Pandora's Box
by ColouredRose
Summary: He opened it, and he couldn't go back. Spoilers from Never Been Kissed. PWP - rated for mature content. Kurt-Karofsky.  Slight dub-con.
1. Box

I was inspired by Camunki's one-shot "Displacement" story - incredibly hot, and well-written. You should go read it if you're into Kurt/Karofsky. But I read that Camunki wrote it as a challenge so I wanted to do the same. There needs to be more Kurtofsky (Karomel?) smut out there, I tells ya.

Following Camunki's prompt challenge: After the locker room kiss scene, they are both at some jock/cheerio party. Kurt is tipsy. Karofsky can't stop thinking about how kissing Kurt felt, so he gets Kurt completely drunk and hooks up with him - you decide how far they go. Kurt doesn't necessarily LIKE Karofsky yet, but he enjoys the hooking up/sex.

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Dave Karofsky

Rating: M! Stay away! AWAY I SAY! pwp. Adult stuff. Strays into the gray area of consent.

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee.

That said - please don't hate me.

* * *

**Pandora's Box**

He opened it, and he couldn't go back. He actually did what he wanted to do for so long and look where it got him. Alone still. Worse than before because now that he actually kissed those lips, he knew what it felt like... and it was like a drug.

And he was the addict.

He balled up his fists as he drank some more.

One of his 'friends' was laughing beside him, telling him some alcohol-fueled joke, not even aware that Karofsky wasn't even listening. It was all background noise as he continued to pump the cups of spiked orange juice down his throat. He was at a party that was just a lame excuse for Cheerios and the jocks to get wasted and rub up against each other. It was still the height of cool for McKinley and there was a time when Karofsky was glad to be here; it meant he fit in. He wasn't the outcast he was afraid of being... that he was afraid of being perceived as.

Only the party wasn't fun anymore, and _he_ wasn't here.

But what did it matter if _he_ wasn't here? Karfosky hated himself for wanting that... for wanting that fag. (He didn't want him, he didn't.) Even as he thought that, he knew it didn't make it any less true. The more he shoved, the more he touched, the more he smelled... the more he saw those eyes... the more he just wanted to be a part of that thing he hated. And that disgusted him more than anything.

It had all changed so quickly. All of his control evaporated when he was so close to that boy. Something about him just made him go haywire and it frightened him. All of that time growing up, absolving all of that caution, only for it to just evaporate: he was crashing.

Before that kiss... before Kurt, Karofsky grabbed a few tits there... fucked a pussy there... but he always closed his eyes and imagined something different as he did that.

Something flatter...

..Leaner...

Saltier...

He closed his eyes.

He tried kissing some other girls after that, but he couldn't go past that. Once he felt electricity, he couldn't settle for ordinary static. Whenever he thought of Kurt Hummel's lips, it inspired voltage.

He groaned slightly, crumpling up the cup in his hand as he got up to get more beer. His stance swayed and his friends laughed. He ignored them and carried on. He had to stop thinking about that homo. He had to quit this-this... madness.

Oh yes. It was madness. What a perfect word for it. Day and night, it was all he could think about. Especially at night, when there was no one to watch him as he closed his eyes and whispered his name: "Kurt."

"You say something, Karofsky?" A girl next to him said. He blinked. Did he say it outloud?

"Uh yeah, got anymore..." his mind raced as he thought of an excuse. _Shit shit shit_. "...Furt..enger beer?" It was stupid, but it was worth a shot. Fortunately the girl was both dumb and tipsy herself.

"Yeah, um, maybe in the back. Want me to get you some?"

"No, I'll get it." Anything to get away from that embarrassing situation. He was sweating so much by the time he got to the backroom. Anymore slips like that, and he was toast. He'd be branded a homo.

(And what was so bad about that? a part of him wondered.)

He nearly ripped off the fridge door as he saw piles and piles of booze and beer. _So much_, he thought. There was so much wrong when he thought of Kurt. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall next to the fridge._ No, I can't call him that... I can't treat him like a regular person. That's the first step._

Dave knew he was well past the first step. Since that kiss, he was on step ninety seven. He just didn't want to admit it... yet.

If only he were here. A small smile came up as his groin stirred and tightened at the thought, and he sighed. If he was here, what would happen? He wanted to laugh; it'd just turn out to be the same bullying unless the kid came smashed... then who knows what happens if they were alone together again like that kiss._ Mmm. That kiss... _He must've kissed a hundred girls and nothing ever happened in his chest like it did then. That pounding... that elation... it was like his insides were flying but he was still on the ground.

And then when he wanted more, he was shut down. Any disgust he felt for himself was thrown back in Kurt's face. Rejected by the only other (desperate) gay kid - wasn't that a proud moment for him. This brought back the scowl and he angrily went back to the fridge, taking out a six-pack greedily for himself. _Not his type_, Karofsky mimicked silently in a high annoying voice. Bald by the time he's thirty. Ha!

...Extraordinarily ordinary boy...

He nearly broke the bottle, opening it up and downed the whole bottle in one sitting. His hand had a small cut from the cap and he sucked on it, wondering if Kurt was here, would he put his mouth sexily on his boo-boo and make the hurt go away? Oh god, he was smashed. He put a hand to his head, shaking it, and continued walking outside the house to get air.

Where did Kurt get off acting so high and mighty? Ladyface should've been grateful for even getting any attention. Beggars can't be choosers. But somehow Karofsky felt like he would beg just to get another taste. That salty, minty, wonderful taste so different and so welcoming that it made his mind woozy just thinking about it (or was that the eleven mixed drinks from earlier?)

He stumbled outside into the warm night, breathing it in. Even though he was lonely, he couldn't deal with putting up a front in front of others, especially when he was getting as drunk as he is. God knows what he'll say... he wasn't even thinking when he let that "Kurt" slip out. He felt a little bit more free away from the rest... all he wanted to do was just drink until he passed out.

He closed his eyes, licking his lips, looking forward to his dreams. That was the only place he could touch Kurt the way he wanted to... the way Kurt wanted him to.

But he almost tripped over something.

...over _someone_.

He looked down and there was the object of his fantasies, sitting by the garage in his perfect attire. Dressed to Impress as always. But he didn't really look that alert.

No... he looked a bit buzzed. Actually, he looked close to smashed.

Well. This was interesting.

Kurt looked up, almost falling from the stoop doing so, but Karofsky caught him. His fingers burned touching that bare skin. So soft, he thought. He righted the boy and retracted his hand, afraid of being caught. (Caught by what? His desire or the eyes within? He wasn't sure which.)

Kurt mumbled, "Thanks." He looked down at his lap, blinking slowly. A few minutes went by.

"Hey, you okay?" he hesitantly asked, looking at the boy closely. He was definitely not sober. Karofsky didn't even remember him being at the party... was he that oblivious? Or did Kurt see him and make sure to stay invisible?

"Yeah," Kurt said, continuing to drink his cup of spiked orange juice. "Just a little tipsyyy," he drawled, smiling at the taller boy whose heart jumped at the gift given to him. That smile. Oh. That smile did _things_ to him... things that couldn't be discussed in polite society. Oh, Karofsky would've given anything to do what he wanted to do to those lips. He probably could've gotten away with it too, now that Kurt's defenses were down.

That sparked an idea in his mind.

His eyes went to the main house and then to the more secluded portion out back. He was mindful of being watched... and more mindful of the opportunity given to him. "Say, wanna check something out?"

"What?" Kurt's eyes fluttered as his eyebrows went together, trying to comprehend what the other boy was saying. Did he even know it was even him he was talking to? Dave decided to chance it and tilted his head to the side, motioning in the direction.

"Come on. You'll love it." There was anticipation underlying the statement, and he held his breath as he watched the boy's reaction. It was easy.

"As long as I can lay down, then fine." There was no hesitation when he grabbed Kurt's hand and brought him up to him, their bodies colliding for a second. Karofsky wanted to moan at the feeling of Kurt's stomach going into his groin. It was soft, and not unpleasant... no, it was only feeding into his anticipation. He stepped away wisely.

It was wrong on so many levels as he led the barely functioning Kurt behind him to the barn out back, but he couldn't help himself. The alcohol was blurring the lines of morality and only fueling his courage to act out his fantasies on the creature that had teased him for so long. Kurt was silent for a minute before he asked in his dreamy voice, "Where are we going?"

"Someplace comfortable. You'll see." He could sense the slight fear in his little doe. If Kurt was more sober, he would've sprinted from him by now. The thought at chasing the boy made his cock hard. There was no chance of escape... not tonight. He kept walking, keeping his grip on his hand tight lest he wiggle away and run. At the same time, he wanted him to run... wanted to pin Kurt down on the ground with his own hard and heavy body and more importantly silence the cries for help with his own mouth. Oh god, the thought was making him so hot as he looked back at the zombie like Kurt who was slightly giggling to himself as he brushed past some branches. It would be so easy... and Kurt would love it, too.

He opened the large barn door, looking around for other like-minded couples. None were in sight and there was no sound being made save for Kurt's giggling. He let a smile grow on his lips as he pulled the boy in to the dark barn. They settled on a spot by the hay pile under a moonlit window. "Where am I..." Kurt started to say but was given a beer.

"You look thirsty. Why don't you drink." It wasn't a suggestion. Kurt took the opened beer, only looking at Karofsky with slight apprehension. Karofsky, on the other hand, was glad to have brought the rest of his six pack. Kurt took the drink and sipped it, and then started drinking more under Karofsky's watchful gaze. Yeah, he was starting to sober up. A few more drinks and this lightweight would be his.

It's not that Dave didn't want Kurt sober doing this; it's just that he was so horny, and the last time he tried something like this on Kurt while both were sober... well, that didn't turn out like how he wanted either. Even now, he was conflicted at going through with this. Would this make him gay? No, he reasoned. People experiment. This was just an experiment. He'd test it out, find out how much he hated it, never do it again, and give what Kurt wanted. Win, win, win, win!

He moved next to Kurt, putting a hand on his knee. He always did find Kurt particularly striking. Dark hair, pale skin... such a small frame. He looked so feminine but masculine at the same time. Dave's insides began to float as he leaned in to smell, watching as Kurt drank, not looking at him. Was he even aware of what was going on?

He felt slightly guilty. He knew other boys who tried tactics like this, Puck being one of them. Get them boozed up... get their defenses down... and then fuck them. Fuck them while you have the chance. He never tried it himself... but then again, it wasn't everyday he had the opportunity to screw this tender little wetdream of his. He wanted to refrain from drinking anymore, wanting all of the alcohol to be used plying this boy's legs open... but he was nervous and drank a bottle, gaining more liquid courage than be bargained for. By the second (and last beer) he was decently smashed himself combined with all the rest of the drinks he had that night. Not to mention more randy.

After Kurt's third beer in the last ten minutes, Karofsky got closer and closer to him, rubbing the top of his thighs as he leaned in to smell his hair. Oh god, he smelled great. So masculine and so feminine at the same time. Like candy and peppermint; sweetness and youth... a little different than all the times he'd breathe in the boy's scent at school anytime he was close. His cock was twitching with each action, ready to blow at any moment. Kurt squirmed under the attention and then turned to him, their lips suddenly so close to one another.

This prompted a question out of nowhere. "I want to know why you kissed me." His eyes were glazed as he tried to focus on his enemy. Karofsky was a little surprised he was still able to form a sentence, but the possibility of remembering any of this was slim. More importantly, he knew it was him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, but decided that the risk was worth it to keep going. He was going to see this through come hell or high water.

"You know why. You asked for it," his enemy replied, his hand going into the inside of Kurt's thigh, stroking closer and closer to his groin. Kurt let a small moan out and Karofsky couldn't feel more triumphant. He leaned into Kurt's ear and nibbled like how girls would do to him. The effect was instantaneous as Kurt led out a girlish peal that he knew was a moan. Oh yeah, he liked that. He started to suck on the earlobe, working his way down the boy's soft, pale neck. Just get it out of your system, he told himself vainly. Just do what you want, get it over with, and never do it again, he thought as he licked Kurt's skin and started biting at the place where the neck meets the shoulder (which also drove his little Kurt crazy too...)

"I hate you," Kurt slurred as he bit his lip to stop feeling so good. He was losing himself as the other boy touched him more and more. Even though he hated it, he loved it more. Karofsky was starting to become undone himself, especially when he saw Kurt cutely bit his own pouty lips. That did it. He leaned in for the kill, putting his lips on Kurt's. Kurt resisted for a few seconds before accepting it. Maybe it was the beer that made him feel sluggish, but he just laid there as Karofsky went to work on his body.

It didn't matter that Kurt said that to him. It dampened his mood a little... but not enough to stop what he was doing. What did he care? Kurt could hate him; lord knows that Dave hated Kurt, and yet look where he was: his hand was down the other boy's jeans massaging his cock through his underwear. That made him open his mouth. Bingo, Karofsky thought, as his tongue went in for the first time. It really was electric. If he thought the last kiss was anything to think about, this one was going to be impossible not to think about 24/7. His hands were everywhere on Kurt's body: his chest, his ass, his face. He couldn't get enough.

If this was hate... then he could live with it.

He moved his lips to the smaller boy's neck, sucking and kissing like he was trying to eat him. And he was; god, he was delicious. Kurt held onto him, his hands going into Karofsky's hair, not knowing every little thing he did was driving the bigger boy to the edge. "Oh god, baby," he said into Kurt's skin. "God, yes, I love this."

He had never been so hot and bothered before. Was this what making out was supposed to feel like? He thought it was so boring before, just going through the motions... but with Kurt, it felt so powerful, so vibrant.

So fucking _hot_.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his face as he put a hand over Kurt's groin and rubbed it more furiously. Kurt gasped, his eyes shut, biting his lip as he twisted around for escape. Karofsky's eyes darkened as he watched. No, this little one was going to stay underneath him until he was done. It gave him a dangerous delight to torture Kurt so much and it took him to a height of pleasure he didn't even know; he wasn't even touching himself!

He grabbed Kurt's jeans and tugged them off roughly. He went up to the shirt and took that off as well. Kurt looked dazed from both his arousal and the actions. He let out a whimper at the exposure, looking up with his blue eyes at his tormentor. Karofsky took off his own shirt, leaving his pants on as he lowered his body over the barely clothed boy below him.

"Ssh," he hushed the boy as he began to kiss his bare chest. "It's okay." The whimpers turned into moans, and soon Kurt's legs were wrapped around him, much to Karofsky's delight. They began to kiss again, so deeply and so passionately. He could feel Kurt's hard cock through his own jeans and his own cock was pulsing wilder than before. He rubbed and Kurt rubbed back as they dry humped. Kurt's hands grabbed Karofsky's hair as he bucked harder and harder under the weight of the other boy who only held him tighter as he moved. Suddenly, he removed himself and Kurt looked up, panting, his cock out of his underwear now.

Another whimper came out of him, causing Karofsky to kiss him sweetly on the lips to shush him. Kurt hapzardly tried to sit up, swaying as he did so. "Don't stop," Kurt said as he kissed Karofsky's neck. "Please don't stop." The request and action almost undid him altogether. But he had to think. He wanted this to last for as long as possible. He put a hand on Kurt's chest, feeling his soft and hard skin beneath his fingertips.

"Lay down," he ordered and Kurt submissively laid back down.

"I've waited so long for this," he said to himself rather to anyone in particular. He took off his pants, completely naked save for his boxers. He laid back down on the boy, this time while kissing him, he tugged Kurt's underwear down and off his body, putting himself into position. Kurt's eyes widened.

"Wait, stop-"

He put his lips on Kurt's to stop the protestations as the head met the entrance. Kurt twisted around, still boozed up but slightly aware of what was happening. Along with his first kiss, he was going to take Kurt's virginity as well. Dave was going on instinct. He wanted this so he was going to take it - simple as that. He had a vague idea what he was doing, choosing just to go with what felt right than thinking it through. He was going to make this boy _his_.

"No, please-" Karofsky pushed as Kurt yelled in pain and then they stayed still. Tears flowed from his blue eyes as Karofsky stared into them. _So beautiful_, he thought, as he stroked the side of Kurt's body. Why did he have to be so beautiful? It made him want to break him more. He wanted to destroy him until there was nothing left, nothing but those blue eyes of his. He always was so cute when he cried. His cheeks got redder and the way he looked up at him with a broken expression - it almost made him come. He loved hurting him so much.. breaking him and re-breaking him until there was nothing left.

He petted the boy's hair, leaning in to kiss him as he slowly pumped in. Kurt closed his mouth to him and whimpered as Dave fucked him, only holding onto him halfway through as the sex became slicker with Karofsky's natural lubrication. Only then did Kurt open his mouth and Dave's tongue entered him, mimicking their sex. Kurt grabbed his large hand and entangled his fingers in them, and Karofsky gripped it as he went in and out of the sweet boy underneath him.

"So sexy," he groaned between kisses, "so fucking sexy." Kurt moaned back, kissing Karofsky's neck in blind lust. This fuels the fire and makes him go faster, shoving all of his length in Kurt.

"Yeah," he said, whispering in Kurt's ear, "you like that, Kurt. You like that, don't you?"

Kurt nodded, still sniffling from the earlier pain. Dave couldn't help himself; not watching Kurt's angelic face seemed like a waste of time. He picked up Kurt's legs and put them around his waist. The position adjustment allowed for deeper penetration and it took all of Dave's will not to come from the change. "Oooh, yes! I want that, oh god, yes." He grabbed Kurt's appendage with his free hand, stroking it slowly in time with the other stroking.

It was sexy what he was seeing: a beautiful being writhing around in pleasure with tears still fresh in his eyes. He felt powerful being in control of him... touching him how he wanted and not how he felt he should. It was so erotic and beyond someone as young as him how intoxicating this felt. With each push, Kurt's body arched in pleasure and pain, and Dave couldn't get enough of it. It was... it was... he was moaning louder as he went faster and faster. _It was sooo good_, he thought as his eyes up in the most intense orgasm he ever felt.

He collapsed on the delicate Kurt, kissing him through his fresh exhaustion. He noticed there was a sticky wetness on his belly. It must've come from Kurt. He rolled over and groaned from the effort. He was so tired. The booze and sex was getting to him. He felt the boy stir against him who was already asleep, and he didn't mind that that boy cuddled up unconsciously closer to him. And he didn't mind that boy's hand on his chest. And he really didn't mind the sound of his breathing... light and rhythmic, like a lullaby of its own.

He was fighting his eyes closing. He was afraid of being discovered naked with him. What would happen if someone did see? His life would be shattered. His friends would abandon him. His family would turn their backs on him. He would be alone, all for the sake of an impulsive decision.

Why did he go along with this stupid idea?

He kissed the top of Kurt's soft hair, inhaling the scent, wrapping his arms around him. Whatever this was, it was too late to undo it. He was in. He opened the box. This could not be undone.

Whether or not Kurt remembered this didn't matter. He had this taste. He was sure he could withstand never having it again. _This was the last time_, he told himself.

But once that box was opened, it couldn't be easily closed either... as he soon found out.

* * *

My first effort at writing slash fiction. :/ I don't know - I thought it was hot!


	2. Dirt

Rating: Still M-ish. Language and adult content. Please don't read if you're not of age and comfortable with the thought of "consent" issues.

**Pandora's Box**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

He woke up cold and alone - definitely the opposite of what he felt last night. He heard the birds annoyingly chirp outside and he squinted at the harsh morning light coming through the window. And his head.

Oh. His poor head.

He held his temple as he groped around for his underwear at least.

...Or his pants.

...Or even his shirt?

In a panic, he realized _none_ of his clothes were near him or even in the barn. _Fuck fuck fuck!_ he thought as he crouched around looking for something to cover up his shame with.

At least he still had his socks and shoes, but considering the circumstances, Dave Karfoksy didn't feel very lucky. He peeked out the window at the main house that was yards away. Nope. This was definitely bad. He was naked, and he didn't really have a good excuse why.

Okay, he _did_ have an excuse... but nothing that would really save his reputation. The most he could hope for was that he got so drunk that he took off all his clothes to go skinny dipping, even though there wasn't a pool or lake for miles. He scratched his head. Where the fuck did his clothes go?

Only one person could be responsible for this. He sneered, making tight fists. That lousy two-timing faggot! A night of pleasure and this is the thanks he gets? No good bye and a shitty prank? What the fuck! As Dave stewed in his anger, he found a pair of dirty and used overalls in the corner. Shaking it clean of bugs and spiders, he put them on, aware of how country he looked. All that was missing was a straw hat and a buckwheat in his mouth. At least it fit.

If anyone from the party saw him like this, they might laugh... but not for long. Not when The Fury was on a murderous path for vengeance. _That little shiteating homo_, Karofsky growled as he stomped to his car, stealthily avoiding the main house. _He's going to regret that._

Even while he thought that as he turned on the engine, he was more hurt that Kurt got up and left him in the hay. Hurt that he would pull something like that on him. He thought that Kurt enjoyed himself last night as evidenced by how sticky Dave's belly was.

Then again, it wasn't in Karofsky's cards to sleep with him last night either... And now despite his intention of liquoring the boy up to not remember, he saw who it was anyway and put two and two together. If he wouldn't tell about the kiss, he'd definitely start gabbing away about a delicious fuck, especially with the most homophobic jock in Lima. He started to bang his head against the back of the seat. _Stupid, stupid,_ he thought. What was he thinking fucking that boy? Some experiment. It didn't quench his thirst; it only increased it. Now he was even more confused... and it didn't help that he wouldn't mind another repeat of last night's actions, maybe even sober-

No. _Nonono. _This was _not _happening again. That was it. Last night was the first, the only, and the last time it would ever happen to him. There were definitely not going to be any "repeats" or "more ofs" or even "maybes."

...Definitely no "maybes."

He let out a sigh as he drove down the long road beside the cornfields. It was eerily beautiful and at night it was fun to go into the cornstalks with a lover (so he heard) and well, fuck under the stars. Hmph. Whatever. Probably overrated. Look where fucking got him-

He started to yell angrily, hating the situation. "God DAMMIT, why does it have to be so fucking complicated? HUMMEL! You PIECE of SHIT!" He screamed into the sky out of his car window. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

_I mean, seriously..._ Who did he think he was just leaving him like that? All alone, defenseless, NAKED... Christ, now he was starting to think like a chick. This boy was screwing him up in more ways than one.

And he was dressed like a fucking farmer.

It was taking a lot of willpower (seriously, a lot of willpower) not to drive into any signs, just so to create some physical damage. Hummel was going to pay for this. He had it made and then he screwed it up.

Yeah. Hummel was going to regret this.

* * *

Thing was, he already did.

It felt like everything around him was separate... like time was somehow slower and Kurt was on a different frequency than the rest of the world. Or painted in color, and he was black and white and whitenoise. It was taking a lot for him just to keep breathing normally. In... out... in... out... Hell, he didn't even get to change properly. He had settled for a replacement shirt in his locker and he knew that wasn't going to last while he was at school. Everything about him reeked and he tried not to think about it as he sprayed on some cologne. Through the masked aroma, he could still smell himself. He could still smell _him_. It made him want to throw up.

He needed a shower. As soon as lunch was came around, he was going to the lockers. He closed his eyes. But would _he_ be there? His - he couldn't even bring himself to say it. It was so vulgar, so surreal... it couldn't be happening to him. Only three weeks ago, he had never been kissed by another boy. And then that changed... how could so much happen so quickly?

Why did he go to that party? More importantly, why didn't he leave when he saw Karofsky there, with that scowl on his face, chugging down drinks like no tomorrow? It was bad news. He could feel the vibrations in the air telling him to go home while he had the chance. But he took the coward's way out: he took a refreshment and sat on the porch, sipping the hard alcohol-laced drink as he tried to think of a plan to enjoy the party in peace.

...And then the next thing he knows, he's waking up next to that big behemoth, arms and legs entangled, NAKED...

He put a hand to his face, going red from the embarrassment and shame. That monster stole so many firsts from him... what was going to stop him from doing more? What was he going to do next? Was this it - living his life trembling in the shadow of a predator? If it was frightening for him before, it was terrifying now, and strangely, he longed for the days of past when Karofsky's bullying meant only shoves and verbal harassment. Since Kurt tested his temper that fateful day in the locker, the bully kept pushing and pushing until... rape.

That morning when he woke up in the hay, it was strange what he felt. It was a content feeling as he looked up at the rafters, content turning into confusion as to where he was. He turned his head and saw his bully's face, and all those feelings of horror, disgust, and shock he felt when Karofsky kissed him came back twentyfold. He looked down at Karofsky's body which was naked... then he looked at his own and had to cover his mouth to keep the noise in. He wanted to scream at his bad luck; he wanted to _kill_ Karofsky then and there. Would that Neanderthal stop at nothing to fuck up his life? Kurt hated him so much then and there, and when he tried to move from the bigger boy's arms, the bastard had the gall to tighten them as if Kurt was a possession! It was a frightening struggle to have with an unconscious person when he finally broke free and then winced as he got up. He timidly put a hand on his tender rump, eyes widening when he realized what exactly happened.

...There were no words to accurately describe how pissed Kurt was. Pissed wasn't even it. Ravaged by rage. Absolutely livid. He was quaking with anger as he got dressed, not even wanting to look at Karofsky again - _ever._ He was tempted to kick the other boy in the most sensitive area imaginable (and the one that caused the offense) but the thought of dealing with Karofsky shook him and he let it be for now. Just as he was about to walk away, he noticed the jock's clothing all around and sneered. It wasn't enough to get back at him, but for the moment it would do, he thought as he picked up all of the jock's stinky, gross clothing (mindful to keep that sneer all the way through the chore) and take it with him into his car.

Teach him a little thing about humiliation and fucking around with smarter 'homos.'

He was just in time for school, only a slightly tardy for class. He didn't know why he showed up anyway. His nerves were way too frazzled to bother with putting up appearances. Despite this, Kurt knew that if he didn't try and seem okay today, they would win... if he didn't fake it, he was going to fall to pieces in a big way. Maybe in such a way that couldn't be repaired.

He kept breathing, looking at a sheet of paper he borrowed from a student. He was totally unprepared for everything today in more ways than one; he had none of his school gear, and his outfit not only smelled like alcohol, it was mismatched and dirty - which only frayed his worn nerves. It was tainted now anyway. He'd have to burn it when he found the chance, just so the reminder of the worst night of his life was gone from the world. The pencil in his hand was close to snapping as he flexed it every so often. When Mercedes greeted him in the hallway, he made some excuse just to get away; he didn't want her to know - he didn't want anyone to know how he let himself be the victim in such a scenario. He felt so weak, so disgusting... he couldn't believe Karofsky used him like that.

_I hate him_, he thought. _I hate him so much. To go so far to do... ugh._

What was the point? Was it to show Kurt how feeble he really was when he was up against a big strong 'man'? He almost scoffed. He wished that was why. It was just another way to wear Kurt down, wear him down until there was nothing left and he was a vacant, broken pushover like how they all wanted him to be. He thought back to the party with Karofsky surrounded by all of his dumb jock friends - were they in on it? He didn't want to think it was a prank... a joke that went too far. No, that was impossible. Finn would've stopped them... and Karofsky would've never let himself be painted in fairy color - not publicly, anyway. Kurt especially didn't want to come to terms that maybe Karofsky _was_ attracted to him and this was his brainless attempt at starting a relationship. The boy was so repressed, Kurt could go spelunking in Karofsky's closet.

He tried to think back to the last thing he remembered: he remembered stumbling and a hand pulling him up. And he remembered a large figure over him asking if he was alright... and then it got a bit fuzzy. At the same time, Kurt felt like such an idiot for not realizing who it was earlier in his drunken stupor. It was like he was one of those girls they tell stories about... how was he supposed to know that that warning applied for boys as well? He tried not to let it get to him even though it did - it really did. He thought he knew better... but really he _was _just some uninformed rube.

Kurt grimaced when he moved around, feeling the sticky skin of his belly stretch in an uncomfortable and gross way. He didn't know what it was, and he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know. The irritation didn't compare to his sore ass; he couldn't believe that Dave Karofsky actually was IN him at one point. He shuddered, gaining a few curious glances around him. He felt unclean and dehydrated, gripping the desk as he waited to be excused to at least use a moist toilette on himself. Maybe several boxes of moist toilettes.

...Make that several hundred.

"Kurt," a whisper and nudge to his side, and he froze. Oh god, what if it was him. They didn't share this class but Gaga knows what that monster was capable of pulling now. He looked hesitantly over and it was Brittney with her big smile. He tried to mirror hers, no doubt appearing strained. At least it wasn't who he feared it was.

"Heeey Brittney. Fancy meeting you here," he quietly said, finally appreciating her lack of intelligence for once. She wouldn't suspect anything about his behavior.

"Where'd you go last night? I looked for you."

"Last night?" he pretended not to know.

"The party. You disappeared."

"Oh, yeah, that." What could he say? _'Yeah, about that, I ditched the party to get date raped by -guess who- Dave Karofsky, torturer extraordinaire. I usually do that when parties get dull. 'Cus that's how I roll.'_ He rolled his eyes. What was he supposed to do? Lie? A lie felt like he was protecting Karofsky, and he really didn't want to do that. Meanwhile, telling the truth would just spiral into a rumor, especially with Brittney. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. "Umm.. I just... had a little too much to drink, I guess." Not a lie, but not exactly the truth either. _Good job, morality_, he thought to himself.

"Oh yeah, Santana did too. She puked all the way home. I think."

"Right," he said, not really caring to carry on the conversation.

He was glad that she lost interest in him and slid down his chair, slouching terribly for once in his life. Why did it feel like the clock was only ticking backwards for him? And why did he feel like he was exposed for everyone to see... especially in his bully's native environment?

When the bell rang and he hobbled awkwardly to the men's room, he passed the locker room on the way and paused, wondering if it was safe to go in and take a quick shower. He smelled filthy, like sweat and other excretions he'd rather not think about (not when it involved that-that _thing_!) The sooner he was clean, even if it meant scrubbed raw, the better rationale he'd be in.

A moment of indecision as other students passed him the hall, and when he saw the Letterman jacket in the distance, he nearly ran into the locker... the very den of what he was trying to escape.

Once inside, he went to his locker and undressed, constantly looking around to see if anyone was watching. He wasn't ever this self conscious before but after last night... after this morning, he felt shaken in a way that he hadn't before. It was funny in a way; he thought he couldn't handle the shoving and insults... but it was nothing compared to this. He took his bathrobe and covered himself with it, happy it went down to his calves. He needed all the coverage he could get. He fished out his loofah, slippers, and peppermint bar of soap and sighed, letting a small (genuine) smile grace his face for the first time that day. It was going to get better; he saw that now. What happened earlier was rock bottom and he wasn't going to let it own him - especially if he never thought about it again.

Despite this he hurriedly went into the stall, mindful to pick the one with the most privacy. It would've been ironic for the jocks (if they could grasp the concept of irony, that is) to see the queer so worried about being seen naked, rather than the other way around. He gave one last look around as he turned on the shower and disrobed, closing his eyes as he lathered up. When he touched the tender areas he couldn't help but grimace as he softly massaged the spots. He must've been in the shower for fifteen minutes when he noticed how pruney his fingers were. And still he didn't feel clean. Five more minutes, he thought, and then I need to get out of here. It was stupid to come back to the scene of a crime where he had been assaulted... even worse to be at a place he knew that Karofsky was eventually going to be. How was he going to face him after today? Just thinking about him made him both enraged and fearful.

"You missed a spot."

Speak of the devil.

He froze under the hot water, his skin prickling despite the heat of the steam. He could feel his gaze now, all over his naked, wet body. He wished he had his robe on. He wished he didn't come in here. He wished he went straight home. He wished he never met Dave Karofsky.

Kurt couldn't trust his voice to speak and stayed motionless, hoping this wasn't what he thought it was: alone with his bully, in the showers... him unclothed and defenseless (again) and him with all the cards at his disposal. Despite this and his fear, he bristled internally. Why the fuck was he getting pushed around by this dumb jock? He was sick of this; he didn't deserve any of this. Not once did he ever so much as glance at him unless Karofsky was starting some trouble. He never asked for any of this. Was this Karofsky's perverse idea of a romance? Sneaking up on somebody in the shower? Drugging them into sexual coercion? What next? Fucking on the stage with an audience watching?

Even though the last thought was a sarcastic lark, he felt a twitch in his loins that he couldn't ignore and (worse) was ashamed to have Karofsky potentially see.

"What do you want?" Kurt said finally after a few moments of silence, a shaky hand moving the bar of soap around more for show and to cover himself than for any actual cleansing. He felt as dirty as before. He reached for the faucet when he heard the stall next to him start. He turned and saw a naked Karofsky eying him as he got under the water. Only a board separated them, and anyone could peek over to see what the other had to offer. Something like that would've definitely made him mincemeat for the jocks, and yet here was a jock doing it to him, unabashedly checking him out...

"Just showering. Rolled around in the hay last night." Kurt winced as Karofsky continued. "And then I couldn't find my clothes, so I had to wear this shit-covered overall crap." Despite the tension, Kurt let a sly smirk grace his lips and Karofsky saw.

"It pissed me the fuck off, Hummel."

"Good!" Kurt retorted, happy he got to him. "Because this morning wasn't a fucking peach for me either."

Karofsky was obviously trying to keep his cool, comical while he was being pelted with water. "So what, you're saying is ladyface didn't have a cozy time doing her fag speciality?"

"Do you even hear yourself talk," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. He turned off the faucet, eager to leave. The more he talked with him, the more it reminded him something between them happened... something that he wasn't sure he gave consent to. No, he had to not given consent. Why would he ever say yes to that? Karofsky watched the departure with displeasure.

"Don't you walk away from me."

"And why shouldn't I?" Kurt said as airily as he could. "I've got more important things to do and more important people to see." His confidence was coming back (ironically) in front of the person who shattered it. He grabbed his robe and began to put it on when he was pressed against the tile wall. A mouth was by his ear, "Because you missed a spot."

His fear went up volumes and he opened his mouth to scream. It was covered by a hand as the mouth began to kiss and suck his ear. Kurt's eyes fluttered as the pleasure coursed through him and his body immediately arched, grinding his bottom into something hard. Karofsky.

There was a slight laugh. "If I didn't know better, I could swear you enjoyed that. ...You do, don't you?"

Kurt glared at the tiles, opening his mouth to bite a finger but it was taken away. Instead his hair was pulled as he was pressed harder into the tile. "You're making this worse on yourself, Hummel," he said, as a hand went around into the robe and found something that made Kurt gasp. "This can be easy... or this can be hard. I can go both ways."

"That's what I hear," Kurt quipped, not able to keep his mouth shut.

Karofsky snarled, gripping Kurt's cock painfully. Even with that insult, Karofsky kissed Kurt's neck, biting it so the boy moaned and lolled his head to allow more access - exactly what Karofsky wanted. He licked up and down, savoring the clean taste (but secretly liking the taste of Kurt's sweat and natural phermones instead). "Not so funny now, huh," he murmured into the boy's wet hair as he hiked up the robe so that their skin would make contact below. Kurt let out a sharp gasp, twisting around.

"No, please, you can't-"

"I can do whatever I want, Hummel."

Kurt turned his head to look Karofsky in the eyes. "Please. Don't." There was something that gave him pause, something that wasn't there last night. It was lust at the party... and there was lust now. But Dave saw something else that he didn't know what to make of or even name. It said:_ this, definitely don't push. This is a limit for me that must not be broken. _As much as he liked seeing the boy upset, he felt this wasn't worth it. Whatever it was, he backed up, letting the robe fall between them as a barrier and instead, embraced Kurt to him. He put his face to the crook of the smaller boy's neck and inhaled. His hands were absently playing with the front of the robe, barely touching Kurt's bare chest. All the while his heart was racing from the fear (and the anticipation.)

"You left me alone. That wasn't cool."

"Sorry, I didn't know I had a post-devirginizing contract with you to be with you after every deflowering." Could this guy really be that idiotic? Of course he wasn't going to stay and have brunch with his rapist!

"Stop using big words, Hummel," he growled, and Kurt felt the vibration on his throat. He gulped, his groin tightening. He felt confused and wanted this over - he didn't want to be around someone who made him feel like hating him and submitting to him at the same time.

"Then stop this and leave _me_ alone."

Karofsky let out a harsh laugh so near to Kurt's ear that he winced from the volume. "Not that easy." He meant it. It really wasn't. He came in with the sole intention of changing into his gym clothes for the rest of the day and when he saw Kurt, so beautiful and pale under the hot water, soaping himself up - needless to say, it changed his plans. He resisted as much as he could but the sight of the beads on that perfect back, that slight smile on his face... it was like he was becoming a different person since last night. He was under a hypnotic trance whenever he smelled... tasted... hell, whenever he saw those eyes, he just burned for a release.

...And never got it. Not even last night was he satisfied. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he would've tried something on Kurt if they woke up side by side like how he expected (wanted). It would've never ended with just last night... he knew that now as he put his nose to the nape of Kurt's neck. _"I can't_," he wanted to say but didn't. He wanted to say, "_I really can't leave you alone. You don't think I'd love nothing more but to never see your face again? To feel this way? To do these things? I hate it. I hate you. I want to quit. I want to so bad... but it's too late now_." Instead he just grabbed the boy's hair in a sudden fit of anger at himself and bit the boy's neck, loving his cry of pain (and pleasure...)

"Someone could see," Kurt said, hoping that Karofsky's fear of exposure would trump whatever kept him practically dry humping his behind. Those words immediately stopped the wave of assault Karofsky was feeding him and reluctantly he stepped away. Kurt let out a sigh of relief, only to be forcefully flipped around, his back to the wall. Karofsky's lips were on his and he resisted, trying to twist away, his hands on Karofsky's strong arms to push him away. But Karofsky knew what buttons to push as he grabbing Kurt's bare ass underneath the robe, his own erection through the towel rubbing against Kurt's member. The combination did the trick; Kurt opened his mouth in both the pleasure at the sensation and the surprise of the actions. Karofsky's tongue went in, tasting Kurt for the second time in the 24 hour period. There wasn't much alcohol left - only pure Kurt.

_Why does he have to taste so good_, he thought.

He noticed Kurt wasn't kissing back and bit his lip hard enough to make the boy gasp and flick out his tongue. Only by accident (Kurt later justified) did his tongue brush against Karofsky, causing a moan in the latter. He started to massage the pale boy's buttocks, breaking the kiss to focus on his neck which almost made Kurt swoon.

No, he had to get a grip. He couldn't do this. He couldn't let him do this to him. Not again - not anymore. "No, stop!" He struggled, even though his breathing was heavy from the arousal. "I said STOP!" Karofsky did, looking up in surprise.

"What, don't you like-"

"It doesn't matter what I like. You can't keep doing this to me. You can't keep touching me like I'm yours. I'm not. You-" he gulped, getting his breath as he let the accusation fall from his lips, "you _raped _me last night."

His tormentor was silent. It was odd having this conversation in the locker showers, both near naked. Karofsky looked upset as he tried to keep his temper in check. It was a bombshell to be confronted so directly; but then again, Kurt was as direct as it got. He looked away, breathing in and out heavily. "Rape. You're going with that word choice, huh."

"Well, what else do you call it?" Kurt was in tears, his hands going everywhere in the air as he talked. "You drug me, take off my clothes, take my virginity-" He put a hand to his mouth. How he hated this boy in front of him. He wished he was dead; but even death might be too good for someone as despicable as him. "I don't know how you could live with yourself."

Karofsky looked a little struck with the shock of that statement. "It was your first time?"

"DUH!" Kurt couldn't believe his ears. Karofsky really was a dum-dum. How many times did it have to be hammered home? "Hello, only gay kid at school. No boyfriend. No action."

There was an uneasy silence as Karofsky weighed this. He knew first times meant a lot to girls... and Hummel was about as girly as it got. What was an impulse for Dave was a big deal for the boy he couldn't help but be attracted to. Okay, now he felt pretty god damn shitty. "Do... do you remember any of it?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Kurt glared as he started to move past him. How dare Karofsky even ask him that. "Don't ever touch me again, or you'll regret it."

His eyes trailed down as he saw the rather large erection in front of him. He stepped back, startled, his eyes widening. He'd never seen one-that is to say that he never had a real erection so up close and in front of him... that he caused (save for his own, of course). He subconsciously put a hand over his groin, whether to cover it or something else, it was unclear even to Kurt. He blinked. His cheeks colored as he kept thinking "Look away, look away, oh my god, look away" but couldn't.

It was Karofsky who broke the reverie. "Kurt," he finally said, arching an eyebrow.

Kurt finally snapped out of it, blushing when he realized what he was doing, and immediately grabbed his things. He threw on his clothes, not even paying attention to what order he put them on or what the final result looked like - as long as he was gone within two minutes. He nearly sprinted out the door by the time Karofsky walked out the showers, holding out something.

"Hey, Hummel, you forgot..." He trailed off, looking down at the fluffy white spa slipper in his hand. "Your damn slipper."

* * *

I got a review that complained about not labeling it non-con. And then Camunki (omg Camunki herself read this - insaaaaane) said it was more dub-con (dubious consent) and I'm inclined to agree. The lines of consent were purposefully blurry with the first chapter since both parties were drunk, even though it was premeditated somewhat for Karofsky. And it'll continue that way (the blurred grey area of consent).

HOWEVER I must say "**Sorry! I didn't really think of it as rape or nonconsensual until maybe earlier the morning after I wrote it (I wrote it all including the past chapter last night)... and even then, I'm playing around with the idea of consent since I'm characterizing Karfosky as so possessive and controlling sexually [not that this is a good thing, fyi]. Kurt doesn't know what he wants; he's horny, but he doesn't know what to make of being desired by someone who makes his life unbearable. Despite that, he can't help but like the advances Karfosky is giving him (but he'd never admit that.) And it is pretty sexy to be hunted like prey in a sense (when it's consensual.)**"

*shrug* I'm just making it up as I go along!

Thanks for reviews, positive feedback, and story alerts. ^_^ I was really afraid of posting something like that because it's not only graphic, but it paints a dark sexual atmosphere that I personally find erotic. Fluff is great and all, but when it gets down to it, it's the dirty, kinky stuff that gets us off. :X I'm not sure how long this is going to be... like I said - I'm sort of making it up as I go along. I have a few really hot ideas that I'd love to explore and then maybe the story is wrapped? Who knows. With a name like Pandora's Box, it'd be very hard ending. (Pun intended.)


	3. Lies

Rating: T to M. Please don't read if you have issues regarding consent.

**Pandora's Box  
**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

He really should get out of bed, he thought to himself.

But it was hard to even move since he got home. It was hard to walk down the stairs into his room. Hard to avoid his father's innocuous questions. Hard to shirk off all those responsibilities of his. The only thing that seemed easy was taking off those clothes and taking a shower. A nice, long, hot, burning shower. A real one. Much different than the one before.

Even in the safety of his own house, he was still afraid Karofsky would come up behind him again and clamp that hand around his mouth. Pushing his body against him. Making him terrified, aroused, and confused. Gaga knows what was going to happen next in that scenario if he didn't run away then.

He hated those fears; when did he become so afraid? Was it always there since Karofsky or was it since that night? He felt like a ghost, so lifeless and see-through... a transparent apparition that could float away with the wind. The only evidence that he wasn't was the fact that his body hurt all over, inside and out.

He lazily stirred under the covers, holding a pillow to his stomach like how he used to when he was younger. Before his mother died, they would sit on the couch and hold pillows together, watching old Grace Kelly movies and eat ice cream out of the carton until it was all gone. It was something they did on those blue days, and it grew into a special ritual they shared. And now he did it by himself. Holding the pillow was as close to any comfort as he was going to get. In the background was Katy Perry's reassuring that he was not a waste of space and that he could not be replaced.

He turned to his side, sighing as he held the pillow to his chest, letting more tears come out. His phone was on the nightstand, vibrating incessantly with messages. _Where are you_, they said._ What happened. Are you okay. I miss you. Call me, text me, me-me-me. _He put his face into the pillow, letting out a sob. He couldn't talk to them right now; he couldn't talk to anyone. What could he say? Anything close to the truth would open a can of worms so big he wasn't sure it was worth it. He could just imagine their faces - would they think what he feared... what Karofsky maintained? That he deserved it; that he asked for it? Who would believe him? No one was helping him when he was being tormented during the day... how could they help him at night? He shuddered, happy he was safe (was he?) in his room away from The Fury. No one could touch him here.

"Kurt?" He stayed still as he heard his father from up the stairs. "Want some dinner?"

He didn't give a response. A response meant he was open to having a conversation and that wasn't happening anytime soon, especially not with his father of all people. He felt so guilty. His dad was still recovering, barely walking around on his own, and Kurt couldn't even put aside his own problems to take care of him. Even so, Kurt laid in bed, not wanting any human contact for at least now. He wanted to stay isolated, in a little bubble, until he figured out what to do in his unique situation.

"Guess not, huh?" His father replied for him. Kurt gave a small smile and that smile disappeared. His father was respecting his boundaries but that wouldn't last forever, and Gaga help him if he ever discovered what got his son so down. If he could raise hell over Finn's outburst to him, then who knows what would happen if he found out about Karofsky. About... last night. He held the pillow tighter, not wanting to think about it even though every second he did. What was there to think about? He could barely remember what happened, let alone vividly recall a detail (something he was thankful for.)

"Well, if you change your mind, it's by your door." He heard his dad give a sympathy pat to the door and closed his eyes, sighing. He wished for the upteenth time that this wasn't happening to him. A part of him felt he deserved this (no, he didn't-no one deserved this!) by wanting sex, wanting a boyfriend, wanting to be accepted. He wondered if this wouldn't have happened if he stayed closeted or even if he didn't want to be with another boy. If there was a God, he really had a screwed up notion of a first date. Kurt rolled his eyes, peeking out the covers. He picked up his phone and retreated into the duvet, looking over his messages.

Several texts from Mercedes who covered for him at Glee club. _Thanks girlfriend_, he thought, but not wanting to respond to any of her questions. Two texts from Tina asking how he was and what the assignment was for Glee. _Great. Inner feelings._ ...And one from Blaine: "**Thinking about you tonight.**"

He gave a bitter smile. Was it stupid that he wanted both his first kiss and first time to be with Blaine? The guy was sexy, could sing his boots off, and had a heart of platinum gold. No, it wasn't stupid; just terrible that his firsts come from a guy who could burp the entire alphabet and bench a 320. He came back to the thought it was his fault which was insane - both times, Karofsky came at him first. What did that say about him? What if he thought Kurt was playing hard to get?

That thought made Kurt sit up from his covers in a panic. What sort of person was he dealing with? It really was like dealing with a neanderthal, except totally and utterly gay. '_Me smash you over the head, me do sexy sexy with you_' - he gave a shudder. Karofsky was absolutely primal, that was for certain. No amount of house-training could break him of being utterly revolting. The fact that he actually thought Kurt enjoyed any attention from him was ludicrous.

Wasn't it?

Maybe he should leave that school. Start fresh. Transfer to someplace better, more accepting - like the Dalton Academy. A place that wouldn't judge him; certainly wouldn't expose him to predators like... Kurt bit his lip lightly, anxious. He looked at past texts until he reached a sentimental old one: **Courage -Blaine**.

Blaine's words came back to him about his regret of running away and not facing his fears. That if he could do it over, he would in a different way... a stronger way. Kurt bit his lip as he mulled it over.

"Men are so stupid," he said outloud, getting pissed (at himself? No!) No matter what he did or was going to do, Karofsky wasn't going to win - not this time. He had been bruised, beaten, thrown, slushied, and insulted enough - he wasn't going to take it, not when he had so much going for him. And the more Kurt thought about it, the more riled up he got.

What was he doing hiding in his room like a scared little boy?

Was he going to stay here the rest of his life afraid of one thing or another? If it wasn't Karofsky, it'd be someone else, something else that would try to push him down and tell him he wasn't beautiful or worth it.

He wasn't going to let this meathead push him around, was he?

"Fuck no," he said. That's right, fuck no! He threw the pillow at the wall, pretending it was Karofsky's dumb meaty fat face.

"I'm not going to take this anymore." Damn straight, not anymore! He looked at himself in the mirror at his vanity, nodding his head at his declaration. He was going to go out, and more importantly, he was going to do something he should've a long time ago: ask Blaine out on a date.

"Yeah!" he said to himself with more certainty than socially appropriate. He got out of bed and went to his closet to pick out his outfit. He was going to dress fabulous to feel fabulous. Getting out his phone, he looked at Blaine's text and then impulsively dialed. When he heard a savory voice answer with a butter-melting _'Hello, Kurt'_ he about melted himself. Despite this, he kept his ground. "Blaine," he said with much bravado, "I'm taking you out. No questions asked. Meet me at the diner in thirty minutes. Ciao."

And then hung up, throwing the phone to the bed to concentrate on getting ready. He was giddy with the rush at bossing his crush around, and even giddier at the fact that he was going on his first date tonight.

He would forget about Karofsky.

He would put it behind him.

And he wouldn't think about it ever again.

* * *

Dave wished he could do the same. He shoved his hands in his black sweatshirt, wishing he had his Letterman's jacket but the last time he had it, he was busy seducing the school's only out gay boy. He groaned, a hand sliding down his face as he tried not to look too suspicious to his friends who were at the other side of the arcade. A thousand times he asked himself since that morning, "Why did you do it? You could've walked away. You could've pretended you never saw him there and left it at that." But no, he had to do the stupid thing, the impulsive thing, the thing he wanted to do increasingly since he first saw Kurt - that he had to go back for more and more.

He_ still _wanted more. What was wrong with him?

He pursed his lips and sighed, walking over to Azimio and the rest of his 'friends.' _Everything_, he supposed silently, as he pasted on a self-assured smirk. Everytime he approached them, he was nervous that they knew something was wrong with him. Like they could smell the difference on him. See through his lies. And everytime nothing happened... just like now. They gave him a respective nod of welcome, and Azimio slapped his buddy on the back, grinning.

"What took you so long?"

"Couldn't find my jacket," he lied. He was good at it. He'd done it for this long, why not keep going? As long as Kurt kept his mouth shut, he felt safe. Still, it made him uneasy knowing that Kurt knew more than he should... and uneasier yet to know that he could flip Dave's world upside down if he chose to. He had the real power; he just didn't realize it yet (or maybe he was that stupid. It was worth hoping for.) It made him feel better to know he had so much respect, he could deny it even if Kurt said anything... but the power of a rumor was a difficult one to quell. Especially one that was true.

"Wild party last night, huh?"

"Yeah," he forced a laugh. "It was okay." Better than okay; it was exhilarating, wonderful, numbing, incredible - and more if he knew enough words to describe it. It unleashed something in him that felt freeing and frightening at the same time. It inspired something that Dave Karofsky never felt before in his life: passion. And he wasn't sure (for once in his life) if he was ready to let go of this new feeling.

"You must've had a good time." His best friend was more astute than given credit for. Azimio's eyes slitted as he looked over his friend, focusing on his face, and once more, Dave got nervous. What if Kurt _did_ say something? Moments seemed to gasp into years; what exactly did Azimio know? "How was she?"

"Huh?" He blurted out, not realizing he was holding his breath. He blinked and shuffled, trying not to seem like he was tense. _Relax_, he told himself. _They don't know anything. Kurt didn't say anything._ Despite his (shaky) faith in the boy, he couldn't help the trembling in his body. He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and tried to calm himself. Azimio looked from the game to him, not seeming to notice his dilemma.

"Come on, Karfosky, I _know_ what you did last night."

Shit.

_Shit shit shit._

The absolute panic hadn't yet set in but Dave couldn't help but take one small step back in surprise. He imagined being discovered many ways and the varied reaction from his friends: from absolute retribution to mild acceptance... even indifference. And in all of those ways, he never thought his lynching would precede with a friendly conversation about what exactly led up to his crimes. It was odd and he didn't understand the point. But now he was found out. He looked at Azimio's face who had this self-loving grin that mocked everything Dave felt that moment: the pain at being like how he was, his despair, his own self-hatred.

So this was it. His face fell slightly as he molded the mask into place, prepared at any moment for them to grab him and take him outside to give him his just desserts. He closed his eyes and swallowed his spit. Any minute now.

...Any minute.

He opened his eyes tentatively to see Azimio talking while watching the game intently.

"I mean, come off it - we know you didn't go off to get wasted til you puked. There was some prime real estate at that crib."

Another guy who was racing against himself chimed in. "Yeah man! Details." Soon they were all chorusing the same tune: "Who was she!" "Yeah!" "Don't be such a prude!"

"Uh," he sheepishly laughed, shrugging his shoulders like he was the man now that he was surrounded by requests and questions. He shifted into his Asshole Jock mode, still reeling from his brush with fate. While his heart was racing he managed to look arrogant as he carefully snubbed his nose with his thumb, getting the look of a confident masculine archetype down. "I don't know, man. Got so wasted, can barely remember what she looked like."

They booed. "Come on, you gotta remember something."

Azimio grinned, his game lost. All of his attention was on Dave now. "Was she tight?" He asked in his vulgar way.

Dave fought a blush as he unwittingly remembered the exact feeling of entering Kurt. "Y-yeah." He gulped. "Really tight." _So tight_, he emphasized in his mind as he fought arousal. It was humiliating possibly getting a boner in front of these straight guys talking about this. He rubbed his neck, hoping that was the end of it. Azimio kept it going though.

"Nice," he said. "What else, what else!" He was hungry for the details and Dave felt pressured to provide them. He looked around at all their faces, feeling like they were seeing through him with every passing second, with every lie or admission he ever told them. There was a heat coming up his body and he didn't know what to do except to keep talking.

"Uhh... She... was really fucking soft. She had an amazing butt."

Azimio motioned for more. "And, and... she, uh, did this thing with her... tongue." Karofsky went red in the face as he motioned to his neck. He never got embarrassed telling his conquest stories before (usually they were really detailed, just in case anyone doubted his sexuality.) But somehow, talking about Kurt as if he were a woman, and remembering the things they did last night on top of telling his homophobic friends the details - it was all at once tantalizing, erotic, dangerous, and really fucking cool.

"Oh shit, is that a hickey?" All the guys turned their heads to look at the mark. "The bitch bit you!"

"Yeah," he said a bit smugly, proud of the passion he inspired in Kurt that night (even if he chose to deny he took part in it.) "It was pretty fucking awesome." Whistles, clapping and sounds of society's approval were his reward for his lie. Half-lie. It really _was_ fucking awesome.

"Yeah?" Azimio said, grinning, unknowing at what he was approving. "Fuck yeah! That's what I'm talking about! Tapping that ass."

"Oh yeah," Dave said, enjoying the irony at telling the complete truth: "I totally tapped that ass."

Azimio held out his fist for a bump and Dave obliged, letting out another breath. He made sure his face was as neutral as it could be but he felt like it was burning for all the world to see. It felt stifling in the arcade with all the noises in the background and the heat from being interrogated. The more he stayed there, the more uncomfortable he felt. Finally after playing a few games, he felt like it was safe to leave without seeming too shady. "Man, I'm starving. I'm gonna bounce."

"For reals?" Azimio clicked his tongue in disapproval, and for a moment, Dave was sure he was going to say something more but didn't. He shrugged but didn't make a move to make the obligatory handshake. Instead, he went back to his game. "Aiight. Hit me up when your fat ass is stuffed."

Dave waved him off, trying not to look too suspicious as he nearly ran out of the Arcade. He walked out the doors and breathed in the cooler night air, relieved to get out of there. He could usually withstand a grilling about sex but then again, he never had to lie about that before. It was only girls; _never a boy_. Never Kurt until last night.

And being with the guys just then, it reminded him that it was getting harder and harder to keep up his image in more ways than one. He couldn't remember the last time he didn't tell a lie about something that mattered to him. They didn't actually want to hear his real opinions - who would want to? He didn't even want to listen to himself.

It was another brush with the fate that he feared: being found out. More lies on top of lies; he felt like such a phony, like when he read _Catcher in the Rye_, that kid hating all the phonies.

Dave jammed in his hands further into his pockets, kicking a can on the sidewalk as he walked slowly down the street by himself. He wondered like many other times what it would be like if he were gay (since he felt it wasn't beyond his control... yet. He could still be straight.) He was a bit afraid to turn as showtune-happy as Kurt seemed to be. He liked sports. He was into action movies and video games as much as the next (straight) guy. He loved going fishing and hunting with his father. Hell, he even hated the word "moisturizer" (it sounded creepy.)

And most of all, he didn't want to start dressing up like a girl, like Kurt was so fond of. He was a man and proud of it.

Even so, he was curious at what it would be like to walk down a hall, hand in hand with another boy. To have everyone know and... possibly _not care_.

It was bizarre. It was weird.

It was curiously... desirable.

That is, if Dave was even _remotely_ gay. Which he wasn't. It was a one-time (okay, three-time, his brain subconsciously counted) thing that was never, never, ever going to happen ever again. Ever.

He paused as he watched a figure get out of a big black SUV and walk nimbly into the Main Street Diner. He gravitated toward him, his eyes tied to that body in a way that he wished he could switch on and off. It was Kurt, looking amazing as usual. Talk about timing. In spite of himself (and his earlier seconds-old conviction), a smile crept up to his face as he walked to the diner. He never planned these things out - and if he did, it never went exactly how he liked. It was like his brain went temporarily blank and his body started to do stuff on its own - very bad (good) things.

And now was such a moment as he walked slowly into the diner, looking around to see if anyone he knew was around. There wasn't and he felt safe enough to continue on. He shook a head to a waitress as he seated himself across from Kurt in a plush booth.

Kurt sat up straighter, his eyes going wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Evening to you too, ladyface," Dave pretended to peruse the menu, staying cool as Kurt got hot.

"What are you doing here." Kurt repeated, hissing through his teeth.

"What else? I'm hungry." He made sure to look Kurt in the eye when he said that. Kurt went a little pink and looked away.

"Well go eat someplace else. I'm meeting somebody."

"Oh really," Dave said, not really buying it. He had a sideways smirk as he turned the page to look at some burgers. Kurt would say anything to ditch him at this point, he figured. May as well make it entertaining. "Who? Your _boyfriend_?"

"As a matter of fact," a new voice interrupted smoothly. Both boys looked up, surprised. Blaine gave a wide smile, winking at Kurt. He was dressed more casually than Kurt expected - yet it didn't distract from how devastatingly handsome he was. Karofsky seemed to have a problem processing his presence as he stared at him like he was unreal... until he leaned in and gave a chaste kiss on Kurt's cheek. "Hello, Pumpkin. Hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"I-... uhh, no." He blushed and self-consciously adjusted his scarf around his neck. He fought from smiling too big before he remembered his unwelcome guest. He looked across from him at Karofsky who was red for entirely different reasons than embarrassment. "Um, Blaine. You know... Karofsky."

"Yes," Blaine said with grace, as he turned his body to him. "We've met before, right?" He pretended to look at Karofsky and mentally place him in his mind.

Karofsky didn't say anything. The menu pages were beginning to curl up from his grip.

"Karofsky was just leaving," Kurt said, relieved Blaine got here in the nick of time. He glared at the boy across from him. "_Right_?"

Dave still didn't move from his seat. He kept staring at Blaine. A muscle twitched on his neck.

Blaine cleared his throat and made a motion with his body. "Well, it's now or never, Karofsky."

Dave slapped the menu down on the table with enough force to make Kurt's eyelids flutter. He slowly got up and for a moment it seemed like The Fury would be unleashed. But nothing happened. He mockingly motioned with his hands to the seat, and as Blaine came near, brushed against him angrily and walked away.

"Wow," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "That's a winner, huh?"

Kurt let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. He gripped the tabletop edges as he leaned in to whisper, "Thank Gaga you got here. I didn't know what I was going to do if he was going to _make_ me eat dinner with him."

Blaine arched an eyebrow at that statement, setting his things down beside him. "Well, I would've gotten here sooner if I knew which diner to go to."

Instantly, Kurt's eyes widened and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Omigod, I'm so sorry!"

"Yeah, it would've helped if you actually answered my calls or texts."

He squirmed in his seat, heat coming up on his cheeks and neck. He loosened the scarf, letting it hang loosely on his chest. "Sorry... I wanted to be cool and keeping communication to a minimum."

"Oh no, it was cool. So cool," he cooed. "It got me here, no questions asked, right?"

Kurt laughed out, surprised. He put a hand over his mouth and smiled. "Right," he said, looking down at his menu in an effort to hide his deepening blush.

"So what's the story with Karofsky?" Blaine looked up and couldn't help but be amused that the bigger boy took a booth at an angle from theirs to watch them from behind a menu. Karofsky glared at Blaine harder when the suave boy smirked at him. He punched the table and broke his straw, blowing out the paper case and shoving it into his drink, slurping with such a violence as if to tell Blaine, "You're lucky you're not this milkshake."

"Ugh, don't even mention his name to me. I want to forget he exists."

Blaine turned his eyes back on Kurt who seemed much more subdued since Blaine brought up Karofsky. "That bad, huh?"

Kurt quietly sipped his water, his eyes shifting from Blaine's to the table. "You have no idea."

"Everything okay?"

Kurt quickly nodded and then stopped, looking at a spot on the table, let out a shuddering sigh. Blaine saw the tears at the corner of his eyes that the boy tried to blink away. He quickly took out a handkerchief and handed it to him.

"Thanks," Kurt said, trying to sound composed as he dabbed his eyes.

"What's so funny?" Blaine asked.

"Even your handkerchiefs are as good as I thought they would be."

Blaine smiled, laughing a little too. Then they sobered up, letting a silence fall between them. Blaine broke it. "Is it really getting to you, Kurt?" He was referring to the bullying but somehow felt there was something more under the surface. After all, the last time Kurt got like this was after Karofsky kissed the poor kid out of the blue during a yelling match. Blaine wondered what exactly went on this time, especially since Karofsky was so riled up, watching murderously from across the diner. Kurt still wasn't looking him in the eyes.

"I wish..." Kurt covered his mouth with the white silk, monogrammed with his friend's initials. "I wish it was all that it used to be. It was easier before. Now I don't know what to think." Blaine's eyebrows knotted together at the cryptic answer, but decided not to press. At least, not right away. So he acted on instinct, touching being his form of comfort.

"Hey," he reached out and held Kurt's hand. "It's okay. You can talk to me."

* * *

Dave was going slowly insane. What he thought was going to be a fun night turned into (rather quickly, too) a terrible, terrible decision. And yet, he couldn't make himself get up and leave as much as he wanted to. His eyes were glued as he watched the emotions on Prettyboy's face and then they just about bugged out of his skull when Prettyboy just casually laid a hand on Hummel's.

Oh no, he didn't just do that.

He let out a growl. It was like this 'Blaine' was seeking out retribution in the form of The Fury. It was madness. Sheer madness! Why was he even caring about this! It wasn't even his problem.

It wasn't even _his_ boyfriend. (He knew, he just KNEW that guy was with him.)

So. Kurt lied to him after all. If he lied to him about that, what else did he lie about? Keeping his secret? Not outing him? Not wanting him back? Actually liking the attention he'd been getting? Being a virgin? That he was, in fact, _very much_ Kurt's type? There was a variety of potential untruths for Dave to weed out and such precious time to do it in. Hell, he was already on his second milkshake and feeling just a wee bit sick from taking his anger out on it. The waitress even stopped coming back to check up on him.

That only made him angrier.

He focused on that hand that had yet to move from Kurt's small, pale, soft one. Ooooh, this was asking for trouble. He knew it. Why the fuck did he walk into this diner? (Dave was unsure if he meant that for Blaine or himself. It made sense either way.)

* * *

"Wow." Was all Blaine said.

Kurt picked at his salad, his appetite suddenly lost. He was worried that this would change how Blaine saw him. That he would no longer view Kurt as alluring as he once (maybe) did. Once more he hated Karofsky. He had terrible timing; just as Kurt finally met a cute, well-adjusted gay guy who was just his type, that idiot swoops in and starts demolishing everything in his world. He felt incredibly vulnerable in front of Blaine; exposed in a way he hadn't felt in a while. Even when he confessed his preference to his father, he didn't feel this nervous. Everything he felt hinged on what Blaine would say... how he would look at Kurt... the tone of his voice. It would confirm whether or not that Kurt deserved this. That he was not a victim. That he_ was_ asking for it, just like how Karofsky alleged and how he secretly felt.

Blaine, on the other hand, was still digesting every detail Kurt divulged. He had a feeling his friend didn't tell him the whole story, and Blaine couldn't really blame him. It was hard enough coming to grips with something like that. He looked across the diner again at Karofsky who was still intently gazing at the booth like he wanted to invade and conquer. What made someone act like that?

Blaine knew the answer: fear. Karofsky was afraid of something... whether it was his own sexuality or someone who told him to be disgusted by it. But he could tell even without knowing for sure that his walls were crumbling down and as a consequence, he was taking out years of pent up sexual energy that he'd been holding back on the only one he could give it to: Kurt.

He decided to word his opinion carefully. Kurt was in a delicate place and had entrusted knowledge in him that was neither easy to bear nor easy to share. "I don't know what I would do if that happened to me," he admitted, realizing he'd be in more of a panic than Kurt is now (something that piqued his interest.) "I think I'd be in a worse state than you are." Kurt scoffed and Blaine had a sideways smile as he squeezed the boy's hand that he never really let go of. "No, I mean it. You're braver than me. If I saw the guy who did that to me even a year after, I'd probably flip out."

"Really?" Kurt breathed, feeling some relief. He knew that Blaine was only comforting him but the fact that he was admitting a weakness made him all the more endearing to Kurt.

"Really." It was an encouraging smile and the hand left his to touch his cheek and wipe away some of the wetness. "I'd be a mess. I'm not a tough guy like you." Kurt let out a short laugh, choking a bit on the thickness in his throat, and smiled, holding the hand to his face.

"Thank you."

It was obvious Karofsky liked Kurt. Blaine could smell it a mile away the way Karofsky's eyes followed Kurt as the boy got up to use the restroom. Blaine couldn't blame the guy; he was in a confusing place. He'd been there with the same self-loathing and even the denial before one day the lying became unbearable, even to himself. Especially to himself, he thought as he remembered those angst-ridden years. Blaine decided to slip out of his booth and intercept Karofsky before the boy could follow Kurt into the bathroom. Lord knows what he was planning, but it obviously wasn't good (but at least it wasn't bad, either.)

"Hey there," Blaine gave a bright smile as he sat down across from Karofsky who slapped down the menu and gave him a look.

"What the hell are you doing here, homo?" He looked around, stabbing what was left of his milkshake repeatedly.

"Relax, I don't think anyone's taking notes let alone watching us. I just wanted to talk and maybe give you a little advice."

"I don't take tips from fags."

"Funny, considering you're one yourself."

Blaine didn't even bat an eye when Karofsky slammed the tabletop in spontaneous fury, causing all the patrons in the diner to give a glance. Karofsky noticed and cleared his throat, looking down at the surface and then at Blaine. "I'm not gay," he hissed.

"Whatever." Blaine held up a hand. "Hear me out, though. I know you like Kurt. I can see it. And attraction's not something that someone can just hide. It's going to come out, one way or another. Which," he gave an odd smile, "explains a lot of your behavior to me. You want Kurt. Bad. That's why you did what you did last night."

Karofsky didn't say anything at first. He stayed still, staring at Blaine. His breaths were coming out a little uneven through his nostrils as he tried to restrain himself. And then he leaned back. Slowly. The creak of the booth was the only indication he really moved.

"...He told you that."

"Yeah. He did." Blaine watched him carefully but he didn't seem to be reacting... yet. "And I just wanted to talk to you before you rushed into the bathroom to do god knows what."

The other boy went even redder, his grip on his milkshake glass growing precariously tight. He broke the eye contact to look away at where Kurt disappeared off to.

"See, I like Kurt, too. I like him a lot." Blaine leaned in, whispering in a low tone. He knew that despite what it looked like, Karofsky was hanging on his every word. He also never let go of the milkshake glass. "I like him so much that I would fight for him, if I had to. I'd fight to help him. I think what you did was shitty. I understand why you did it, and more importantly, I get that it had to probably happen to make you realize something about yourself. But it was still shitty. And it happened to Kurt. You hurt someone that I care about, and from the looks of it, you're going to keep on hurting him... aren't you?"

Karofsky didn't say anything in his defense. But at least his eyes shifted a little to look at the floor. That was some indication of shame. Blaine felt a little relieved. So Karofsky wasn't entirely remorseless. "It gets under your skin, huh?"

Karofsky looked him in the eyes. The anger still there but also a variety of other emotions, all too fleeting and fast moving to catch. Blaine stared back for a few seconds before nodding. "You've got a taste for it. Once you start, you can't stop you know. You know what you are." He got up from the booth. "So stop taking it out on Kurt."

And then he settled back into his seat, calm and steady as Kurt walked back out. "Hey," he said, an easy smile coming onto his features as he looked up at his date. "Feeling better?"

"As much as I can, yeah," Kurt said, even though he felt a little uneasy. He had spent the first three minutes freaking out that Karofsky was going to come in lumbering after him, and he wasn't sure he liked that or not. So it was difficult to process his disappointment when Karofsky _didn't_ come barging through the bathroom door, dragging him into a stall, and touching him in forbidden places.

He actually spent a minute afraid to open the door, in case Karofsky was on the other side, about to come in and teach him a lesson for being out and about without him... for dismissing his company earlier. It disturbed Kurt that he was secretly eager for this punishment. And it also disgusted him.

He had told Blaine what happened that night and what happened earlier that day... but he neglected to mention his conflicted feelings on the subject. That while he was scared, he was also in anticipation. That when he thought about it, there was a jolt that went directly to his loins - and he didn't want to know what that said about him... whether he was a masochist that wanted a bully as a lover or that he was so desperate, he'd take even Karofsky in lieu of having no one.

It didn't paint him in a very good light and Kurt wanted to look impressive in front of Blaine. It was already a blow to the ego to admit how weak he was against Karofsky... but it was better to be a total victim than to acknowledge that maybe, that the experience wasn't entirely too bad. He wondered, like so many things this issue was bringing up, what this meant and if this was normal to feel after an attack. He wanted to think it was like Stockholm's Syndrome - totally inevitable if captivated for too long; just a psychological fuck-up that he couldn't help.

But he could help it... couldn't he?

Even as they got up to pay their bill and Blaine's hand slid down his back to rest right above his bottom, Kurt's eyes wandered over to the booth he saw Karofsky sit at. It was empty.

Kurt ignored the unsatisfied feeling in his gut that was starting to seep upwards into his chest.

* * *

"I had a good time tonight," Blaine said, playing with Kurt's scarf flirtatiously. They walked hand in hand down the steps of the diner.

"Yeah, I did, too." Why did it feel like he was lying when he did have a good time? Kurt looked up into Blaine's dark eyes and willed himself to melt. This is what he wanted. This is what was right. This was what love was; it was clean, it was pretty. It didn't give more questions. It didn't make you question yourself. It was self-assured and smooth and perfect. Like Blaine.

So when Blaine leaned down to give a chaste kiss on Kurt's lips, it didn't make sense to Kurt as to why he was working so hard to feel something. It was a nice kiss... sweet... beautiful... something he dreamed about his whole life - a real romantic kiss.

But it felt _boring_.

Kurt smiled nevertheless after it ended. "So you're okay for getting home."

"Yeah, I've got a midterm to study for," Blaine rolled his eyes as he played with Kurt's lapel, and then put his hand to Kurt's hair. For a split second, he tensed, wondering if he was going to pull it. He held his breath and exhaled softly when Blaine rearranged some locks into place instead. He wished that he had at least tugged them, and that line of thinking bugged him.

"Yeah, I need to work on stuff, too..." He looked down at Blaine's chest and on impulse, hugged him. Blaine's arms went around him and Kurt breathed in his smell: he smelled as good as he looked. That aftershave always did send chills up his spine. He wanted to feel some of the old jitteryness he anticipated he'd feel in this moment. Instead, Kurt wished for a clean, generic soap smell.

He withdrew, feeling a fake smile on his face take place. Thankfully Blaine was the one to say goodbye. "You'll be alright by yourself, right?"

He would be. If Karofsky didn't come after him then, there was no point now. It was late and they were out in the open. Besides, he was going home. All he had to do was get in his car and drive. After another of Blaine's sweet and perfect kisses, Kurt walked over to his car and automatically got in, not conscious that the alarm didn't go off. He stared at the steering wheel and let out a sigh, wondering what was wrong with him. He should've be on Cloud 9 - hell, given how much he wanted this moment, he should be on Cloud 9 Squared.

Even so, nothing in him really stirred. The butterflies were missing.

He put the keys in the ignition, starting the car, and looked in the rearview mirror. He gasped.

Looking back at him was Dave Karofsky.

* * *

I know some of the Klaine lovers enjoyed the earlier interaction before it dissolved into full on KURTOFSKY DEBAUCHERY (oh hells yeah). But I decided to reserve that for the next chapter... otherwise it would've been way too long and ended the chapter on the wrong sort of note. I originally wanted Blaine to be more manipulative because he's utterly stainless in the show so far... but when I write, it doesn't come out that way. It's sort of funny how I plan one thing and then another happens. I also put in a song in the background of this chapter that I thought sums up Kurt's feelings a lot of the time - brownie points to someone who guesses it!

Thanks for all the comments and alerts! They made me laugh, smile, nod in understanding, and in general, squeel like a total fangirl. A thing I like to do to keep inspiration fresh since my attention span is really short is to go through the archives and read updated stories about Kurtofsky pairings. A REALLY good one to check out is **"In Which Dave Karofsky Doesn't Come Out" by Saltwatergarden**. If I had to rank top top top favorite, this would be it, hands down. I highly encourage everyone to mosey on down and read it; you will NOT regret it. And if you do, well, I guess I'll just have to eat my hat then.

(**To my anonymous reviewers who I could not pm**: It is a bit of rape fantasy, but it also deals with Dominance and Submission, on giving power up and taking control of another being and how that's erotic. And it's also Dave Karofsky being totally inappropriate and creepy, but also learning what's acceptable and what isn't... as well as defining what love can be [since Kurt's so convinced it's nice and pretty and has bows on it]. I don't expect everyone to like it or even tolerate it; I'm pretty freaking surprised that I even got 5% of the positive feedback I've been getting. It's mindblowing that other people feel the same way, and again, I've never ever written anything like this ever before. This is my first time writing something this dark sexually that has to do with men/boys. I totally expect at anytime for the support to drop, however.)

I'm a little nervous because I'm not sure I'll have the next chapter up before the next episode of Glee pops up and I'm anxious about what sort of things will influence me. On one hand, I'm hoping they start to give Karofsky chances to redeem himself (I mean, that wink, come on people) but on the other hand, I want it paced nicely, in a real way. None of that rushed stuff. And the only way I see him really redeeming himself in Kurt's eyes to make him boyfriend material is SINGING A SONNNNNNNNG. This has got to happen. **I have spoken.**


	4. KissFist

Rating: M. Really. I'm not kidding, guys. It's dirty.

...Dirrrrty. You hear me? DIRTY.

Turn back! Turn back while you still can!

Because-because... it's absolutely _filthy_! No decent person with an ounce of morality would read this.

If you knew what was good for you, you'd backspace back to a safer story. Seriously. This chapter is not intended for people with heart problems or whatever sensitive junk.

Because it's all Kurtofsky goodness after this. No Klaine or Sammel or Furt or anything. Just. Kur. Tof. Sky.

Just lettin' ya know.

Yup.

Just lettin' ya knoooow.

(Why are you still reading this? I would've skipped this crap to the smut. Geez.)

**Pandora's Box**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

If there was one thing that he knew, it was that if it were anyone else... a girl, a Cheerio, hell, even that fat girl in the AV club, it would be okay. It would annoy him, sure (not that Dave was annoyed or anything like that), but it'd be okay. Because it was a girl.

He was supposed to feel this way about a _girl_.

Instead, Dave Karofsky felt like he was going nuts (and it _was_ over a boy). He wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that it was a boy or that it was Kurt _fucking_ Hummel. The boy who wore glitter pants to school, and acted affronted each and every time he was slushied like he was Jesus or something. Dave wondered how it reflected on his taste (that is, if he were remotely into Kurt. Which he wasn't. No way.) to be into someone who wasn't afraid to break out in song and dance in the middle of walking down the halls or wear a dress in broad daylight.

He didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

Hell, he was crazy for caring at all. If he had any sense in him left, he'd either leave or stick around just to beat up Kurt and his faggy _boyfriend_. He gritted his teeth and seethed, trying to control his breathing as he watched them from the window. They were _soooo_ close and that pretty boy was playing around with Kurt's scarf. He could tell Kurt liked it too (that fucking _slut_.) Of course he liked it from another queer; he sneered. When did he get permission to do that? Where did that homo get off touching Hummel like he owned him? _Because he didn't_, Dave thought, wanting to tear Prettyboy's head off his shoulders.

So Prettyboy wanted to act all "experienced and cool" by being Hummel's knight in shining armor. Dave snorted and rolled his eyes. The only rescuing Hummel needed was a reality check to the situation: he was not going to hide behind some other fag from Dave Karofsky. Nothing and no one escapes The Fury. No exceptions. It irritated him that _Blaine_ (Dave snorted again, this time at the stupidity of that name - it was like the name of some prissy doll. Seriously, who actually names their kid that and expects them _not_ to be gay?) got off like he was some expert on the situation when he only knew half of the story. Not like Dave was going to tell him his or even admit anything happened.

Because it didn't. (Fuck him if he thinks it did, because Kurt is a pansy ass liar.)

Speaking of lying... Dave narrowed his eyes. The fact that Kurt had such loose lips -the mental image was a bit much for Dave- at once worried Dave and angered him to no end. First Kurt says "Your secret is safe with me". Still, he tells that _Blaine_. Whatever, fags like to share secrets with one another... as long as they both kept their mouths shut after. He could care less and forced himself to think it was fine. (It wasn't.) To drive the point home, Dave threatens him to make sure his mouth stays shut. Not like he'd actually kill him or anything - he wasn't that stupid. He just needed to scare Kurt and guess what - it worked (..for a while.)

And then he thought something would happen today at school, that Kurt would finally have enough of his bullshit and start spewing his guts to every McKinley kid he could get to that would believe his pack of lies. He fully expected to be in cuffs by the end of the day with all of the jocks jeering his face about how they knew that something was wrong with him from the start.

But again, nothing happened.

So he thought, _well, Hummel finally got it_. He finally learned to keep his mouth shut (and this subconsciously made him feel like he had carte blanche to do whatever he liked to the boy.)

Imagine his great and unmitigated shock when Blaine admitted not only to knowing that Kurt and him had sex, but that he was gay (totally untrue), attracted to Kurt (really untrue), and that he was hurting him (well, that he couldn't really argue against). What stuck out the most was that Prettyboy admitted to liking Hummel and that he would fight for him. It not only bothered him, it made him angry. If he hadn't been so pissed at Kurt for spilling his guts to Prettyboy, he would've reached across the table to give him a piece of The Fury.

The whole encounter made Dave feel like a fool. He hated feeling like he was not only the last to know, but the butt of the joke on top of it. He was not going to be treated this way, not going to be dismissed like some dog. He'd show Kurt who was the fucking boss.

A small part of him had to wonder that if he wasn't into boys -wasn't into Kurt Hummel- then why did he bother following him into the diner? Why did he go to his car with the purpose of defacing it only to discover its unlocked doors? Why did he get in the backseat and wait for something to happen? Why, why, why?

He never planned on doing this; it was Kurt's fault. It was Kurt's fault for lying to him. Kurt's fault for making him trust him. Kurt's fault for not locking his doors. Kurt's fault for acting like he didn't exist. Like he didn't matter. It was Kurt's fault he had this heavy pain in his chest; he was sure that Kurt was causing all of this. Yes, Kurt _deserved_ what he had coming to him.

In his tight little jeans, looking so _hot_... Dave grimaced, becoming hard as he looked over that body in the dim lighting. Even from his vantage point, Kurt still looked great and it pissed him off to know that he would put in the effort for that _fag-lover_ but not for him. Not that he wanted him to. No, that'd be insane. That'd never happen. _Still,_ Dave licked his lips as he thought about the past times he was close to that ass that he was now admiring, _that ass _**is**_ mighty fine_. His anger effortlessly shifted into desire.

...That is, until Prettyboy leaned in for a kiss that he was _sure_ Kurt was reciprocating.

What.

The.

_Fuck_.

Dave nearly ran out of the car to break up the lovefest to introduce them to his fists formally. His mind used the excuse that he was disgusted by the public display of faggotry that even he was finding hard to believe. When he breathed and tried to control himself (as hard as it was), he forced himself to to sit back and watch (as painful as it was) until Kurt walked into his trap.

Once again he found himself considering questions he wasn't sure how to answer: What was it about Kurt that made his calm storm turn into a tornado in a moment's notice? Why did his blood boil and going temporarily crazy didn't sound like such a bad idea? What was wrong with him?

And Kurt. _What the fuck, man_, he thought. What did Kurt think he got off, going on a date so soon after accusing him of rape? _That little faker_, Dave snarled to himself. He was just trying to make him feel bad. To think it actually worked for like a micro-second too. He had nothing to regret, except actually being gentle with that little fruit.

When the two separated and Kurt walked back to the car slowly, Dave narrowed his eyes.

This time he would definitely teach Hummel a lesson that he wouldn't soon forget.

* * *

"How-" Kurt was at a loss for words as he stared helplessly into the rearview mirror. Karofsky's eyes stared back. Kurt wondered why -for a split second- he never noticed how groomed Karofsky's face was. More than any other jock's he'd seen, including Finn's. The angle of his eyebrows seemed make his face cat-like and slim, only making his strong jawline more noticeable. And if he looked closely, he could've sworn that Karofsky was... pouting? If he wasn't fucking terrifying, he would be pretty hot. Theoretically speaking of course.

"You should really remember to lock your doors. Bad things happen to little boys who don't protect themselves." Kurt wasn't sure if Karofsky was actually serious with that statement.

"What do you want." It wasn't so much of a question as a loaded comment. All Kurt knew was that on a level of one to ten, Karofsky was an eleven on the creepy rating. Subconsciously, he wondered where his phone was and cursed. It was in his back pocket. Dave would have to be blind not to notice him groping around for it. He decided to stay still and to just keep talking until he found an opportunity to escape.

"You lied to me."

"What?" Kurt was incredulous; this wasn't really happening. Was Karofsky totally batshit? A part of his mind instantly reviewed everything he might've said to Karofsky and came up blank - he never told the jock any lies. None that counted, anyway.

"You. _Lied._ To. Me."

"No, I-" He stopped himself. Kurt didn't know why he was trying to justify himself. So what if he lied to Karofsky? What did that douchebag ever do to deserve the truth from him? He lifted up his chin and glared in the mirror's reflection. "And your point being?"

The reaction was not the one he liked. Karofsky's dark eyes got darker and the pupils seemed to get wide like an animal's. Kurt's hand wandered to the door, ready to sprint. He felt a sharp pain at his skull as Karofsky pulled his hair much tighter than the previous times. Kurt yelped outloud, his hands going to the hand as he tried to claw out of it until he felt a hand around his throat squeeze dangerously. He was reminded at just how dangerous Karofsky could be, of how far he could be pushed before he snapped. He imagined dying a few times but never like this. Kurt put his hands down and the threat around his throat left. He took a deep breath and the tears in his eyes slid down his cheek as he struggled to focus on the present.

He felt Karofsky's lips by his ear and closed his eyes instinctively as he suppressed a shiver.

"Drive," he hissed, his mouth hovering longer than necessary over Kurt's earlobes.

"No way."

He stared at Karofsky in the reflection of the mirror, hating him more with each passing second. What sort of fucking freak was this? Who terrorized innocent people repeatedly? He could tell Karofsky was a psychopath that enjoyed nothing more than manipulating and destroying the lives around him, and he was his current target. _Lucky me_, he thought glibly to himself. _I get to be his latest victim. Whoopee._

"I'm not going to ask again, Hummel," he said softly, not taking his eyes off the mirror. It seemed to penetrate him more than anything Karofsky had done up to that point. They stared at each other, aware of how close they were to one another. Each boy reacted differently: Kurt gave a shuddering gasp that sounded like a whisper and Dave tightened his grip on Kurt's hair.

"Drive."

* * *

"Where are we going?" They had been silent for the last ten minutes. The only conversation occurred when Dave gave him curt directions that led the car outside of Lima. They were now down a road that had only one lane on each side, and the only visible light came from the vehicle. They were alone with no one in sight but the many corn stalks to witness the kidnapping. Distantly in his mind, Kurt realized this was a hijacking and that he was a hostage. He could press charges. He could have Karofsky locked up for life and have him deal with his own homophobic bullies for once. The thought made Kurt smile.

"None of your business."

"Well, if I'm the one driving there and going there - then yes, Neanderthal, it is my business." His heart was pounding. What if this was it. What if Karofsky snapped and was going to do it? Was he going to die tonight? Was Karofsky going to wring his neck for being gay? Was Karofsky that self-loathing that he couldn't stand seeing Kurt happy and with another man? He wasn't sure which of those questions made him shiver more - the threat of violence and death... or the fact that Karofsky's jealousy was something real and definitely not to be messed with. He thought it was crazy - there was no way that Karofsky was even remotely jealous, let alone affected by Blaine being with him.

"Shut up."

"No, I'm not shutting up. What is wrong with you? You wait in my car like a creep and kidnap me, and then you make me drive out of Lima to Gaga knows where. Just what is your deal, you-" He looked over his shoulder for a second to look Karofsky directly in the face, and blinked at the closeness. Karofsky's nose nearly touched his and they stared at each other for a second.

"You should watch the road," Kurt heard him say.

He licked his lips, watching Karofsky's mouth move like it was in slow motion. For some reason his stomach felt molten. No, it was the place below his stomach... right in between his legs. That place felt hot just looking at those lips. Those hate-mongering, angry, full lips. "What."

"I said, WATCH OUT." Suddenly Karofsky lunged forward and took forward of the steering wheel, narrowly missing a heavy wood pole. He moved the car back on the road and stayed in that position.

"Thanks, I can take the wheel now." Kurt wasn't sure why that sounded like a request. This was his car after all. But being so close to Karofsky with his big lumbering body brought back memories that he didn't want to relive just yet.

Karofsky looked at him quickly, glaring. "Really? Because I don't want to die."

Kurt gave him a sneer. _Smart ass._ "Well, neither do I."

"Could've fooled me," Dave muttered, and moved to let Kurt take the wheel. But instead of going back into his seat, he moved to sit next to Kurt, his hand landing possessively on the boy's knee. Kurt gave a quick glance at it before keeping his eyes on the road. The hotness moved and Kurt gripped the steering wheel harder, his eyes fluttering a little bit at the feeling. He'd never felt that before; at least, nothing that powerful. He shook his head mentally - what was he thinking? Karofsky was doing it again - acting like Kurt had no will of his own. "Get your hand off of me," Kurt said, surprising Karofsky.

The other boy was silent, looking down at his hand as if trying to figure out a problem. _What an idiot_, Kurt thought to himself, and opened his mouth to repeat his command when Karofsky interrupted.

"No."

In fact, he squeezed his hand tighter, his hand moving up Kurt's leg to rest on his inner thigh. Kurt almost re-arranged himself to spread his legs a little before catching himself. Even subconsciously putting his legs together to discourage Karofsky made the sensation nicer. Gaga _dammit._ "Are we there yet?" Kurt said, impatient to get this over with. He didn't like what Karofsky was doing to him, let alone treating him.

Karofsky on the other hand, was as conflicted as Kurt. When the boy admitted that he lied, something went red in his brain and made him so angry, he wanted to slam the boy into the ground and punish him for being a deceitful little cocktease. When he pulled the boy's hair, only one word came out - a directive to get some privacy for whatever it was he was going to do to him. And he didn't know what he was going to do. He was afraid of what he was going to do. He was going to hurt Kurt one way or another to match how Kurt hurt him. He was going to make that bitch cry, and he was going to look at those blue eyes as the tears fell. He was going to show Kurt who the real boss was and that he couldn't just willy nilly go on a date without informing him, let alone dismiss him like a dog.

When Kurt started asking him questions, it hurt his brain - he didn't know where they were going. He had no clue what he was doing really. They were just driving until Dave thought of what else to do. Getting out of Lima was one step in the right direction; he didn't want to be around anything associating his life and what he was (supposed to) stand for. He wanted to be completely isolated with Kurt where no one could hear the boy's screams for help. It was the next best thing to getting the boy liquored up again.

At the same time, Dave couldn't help but be close to Kurt. His head was almost right by the boy's head, and he reveled in smelling the boy's honey-scented hair. It was taking will power not to put his hand on Kurt's chest (or lower) and lean in to inhale Kurt's pheromones that drove Dave's actions and arousal. He was going to resist this time. He was going to be the big straight man he was supposed to be (_that he is_). He wasn't going to touch Kurt in a way that was unacceptable again.

So when Kurt suddenly turned around to yell at him, their faces became close. Too close. And Dave lost it. He lost whatever self control he had in that moment. He was going to fuck this boy right then and there while they were still driving. Never mind the logistics - it was going to happen. Then Dave realized: oh shit, they _were_ still driving. For some reason, Kurt was barely responding to his calls for attention and he leaned in, saving them both from a terrible accident. It made him so angry that Kurt was that careless just like when he didn't lock his doors. Didn't the kid know how much in danger he was? How much people (not just him) wanted to hurt him? He was making it so easy that Dave wanted to yell at him for being more careful. _Honestly_, he huffed to himself as he righted the vehicle. _And he keeps calling me stupid._

He settled into the seat next to him, figuring it was safer than being so close to Hummel's hair. He watched the road, wary of another accident happening, when Kurt asked him to take his hand off him. Well, not asked - _demanded_. Dave narrowed his eyes as he looked at his hand. _Traitor,_ he thought to it. It went there without him knowing but he felt Kurt's body beneath the denim and grew intoxicated. He couldn't bring himself to take it away and decided his hand knew best in the situation, letting it go higher. When Kurt squeezed his thighs, _oh my god_, it only made it feel more awesome. Like he was already in him. Dave put his other hand on his own leg, squeezing it painfully to remind himself he couldn't do anything. _Not yet, anyway_, he thought as he looked over Kurt's body.

He was so thin and frail-looking, like a bird or something. All bones and skin it seemed like. Dave knew that wasn't true as he felt the taut, lean muscle that enveloped his hand. He wondered what was his favorite feature about Kurt... his ass or those thighs of his... of course, it was nothing compared to those blue eyes that stopped him cold in whatever he was doing. Kurt's thighs loosened and he began to rub slightly, eliciting a small moan from Kurt.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kurt put a hand over his own mouth in shock.

_Well, well, well... _so he didn't think it was disgusting after all. Dave smirked, satisfied with the reaction. Before the night was done, he was going to make this little bitch moan his name in pure and unadulterated ecstasy. "Pull over."

"What?" Kurt croaked, confused. It seemed he forgot that Dave was next to him.

"Pull over." He wasn't going to say it again. Dave squeezed Kurt's thigh to get the message across. It worked. Kurt parked on the side of the road by the cornfield obediently. They sat in silence as Karofsky continued to massage Kurt, going directly over his groin. Kurt let a louder moan out, only encouraging his tormentor.

"You like this, don't you?"

Kurt bit his lip as he struggled to keep his reaction to a minimum. He opened his eyes to glare at his attacker, nostrils flaring. "No," he spat, still squirming.

"Liar," Dave said. Unlike earlier, there was no deep malice in his remark. It was more like a tease, accentuated as he moved closer to Kurt.

Kurt stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Stopped doing anything. All he could was watch as Dave Karofsky leaned in for the kill. He felt absolutely paralyzed as he laid there, limp with his arms at his sides. _Oh god oh god he's going to kiss me_, he thought, his eyes growing as wide as saucers. It wasn't shocking that he was doing this; it was shocking that Kurt wasn't sure if he wanted to push away Karofsky. Instead of disgust, he felt interest; to clarify, maybe Karofsky's kiss was the lesser of two evils (the worse one being him dead in a ditch someplace.)

So he closed his eyes, his mouth slightly open as he waited for the assault to happen.

It didn't.

He heard a click and opened his eyes to find that Karofsky was back in his seat, pocketing something. He looked in front of him and narrowed his eyes. "HEY! My car keys!"

"Mine now," Karofsky smirked as he opened the car door to slide out.

"Give those back!"

He pretended to think it over. "Hmm.. make me," he said, giving the boy a wink. Stunned, Kurt just sat there, not willing to believe this was actually happening. Was... was Karofsky just flirting with him?

The boy in question looked over his shoulder. "You getting out or what, Hummel."

Deep seated fear finally caught up to Kurt. He was in the middle of nowhere with someone who hated him so much that he wasn't sure what was going to happen - if he was going to die or if he was going to be raped. Or both. Karofsky took his one of his only means of escape which meant he had to think fast. A pounding on his window reminded him that Karofsky didn't like waiting. "Ladyface, get your ass into gear." There was a leer on the boy's face as he stared down at him and Kurt shuddered, not wanting to open the door. A part of him automatically went to lock the doors before realizing with a sinking feeling that there was no use: the boy had his keys. There was no where for him to hide this time.

His phone was still in his pocket. He could still run. These were the two thoughts in Kurt's head as he slowly got out of the car. As he closed it and walked to the side of the cornfield with Karofsky close behind, he suddenly sprinted down the row of corn but was immediately caught by his opponent who slammed him into his car.

"Thought you could run away, huh?" Kurt closed his eyes as he felt the hot breath of his oppressor on his neck. It wasn't the only thing he felt as Karofsky pressed his body against his back. "You really like it the hard way, don't you, Hummel?" To emphasize this point Karofsky cleverly ground his groin into Kurt's bottom, his hands on the boy's delicate hips. Those same hands slid down over Kurt's fly playing with the zipper. It was this combination that made Kurt's eyes flutter and his breath hitch in his throat.

What was he doing? He couldn't be enjoying this. Not now, not now. What sort of message would that send to Karofsky? '_Yes, I love being roughed up and raped - all gays do. Please, please, whatever you do, don't be gentle. In fact, make it extra painful. Now. In my rear.'_

The thought snapped his eyes open and he slammed his head back into Karofsky's, elbowing him in the ribs as he twisted out of his strong grip. He turned and ran into the cornfields. He wasn't going to let this happen to him. Not now. Not again. He wasn't going to be the victim anymore and let Karofsky get his way. He ran further and further into the cornfield, determined to get as far as he could from his kidnapper. When he was satisfied he was far away enough, he slowed down and took out his phone from his pocket.

"Fuck!" he yelled. No signal._ Of course_ there was no signal in butt-fucking-nowhere, he cursed as he was tempted to throw his phone down on the rocky soil. _Fuck fuck fuck_, he thought. What was he going to do now? He had no car keys and he had no signal on his phone. He was trapped. He was trapped in the dead of night in a place where no one could hear his screams for help. The only thing protecting him now was hiding in the cornfield. Karofsky would never find him.

At least, he hoped he wouldn't.

He kept walking with his phone out, hoping to get a signal however dismal the chances were. He had to hold out hope that it would work out, that he could escape; if he didn't, he might as well just lie on the ground to be Dave's fuckdoll (he ignored the delicious shiver that went directly to his groin at the thought.)

He held up his phone high above his head, almost over the cornstalk itself and a beep alerted him to one bar. One bar was his salvation. "Oh thank you, sweet A.T.&T." He kept his arm up as he began to dial for help when he was knocked down, the phone thrown from his hand several yards away. Heavy breathing was on his back along with an uncomfortable weight.

"You're good, Hummel," Karofsky conceded as he wiped away the blood coming from his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve. "I gotta say, I underestimated you. You're a guy after all."

"Fuck you," Kurt spat, struggling underneath him. Karofsky flipped him over effortlessly, grinning psychotically as if Kurt made a hilarious joke.

"Don't mind if I do."

"What, no-" his next words were muffled as Karofsky's lips were on his. He tried to wrench his lips away but Karofsky kept his face in place with his hand and then he did it. He opened his mouth to let Karofsky in, opening his eyes to stare at his tormentor as Karofsky easily put his tongue down his throat.

"That's more like it," he said in a husky whisper as he continued to kiss. Kurt's eyes got dark and he bit down on Karofsky's lip with all the power he had, making Karofsky immediately pissed. He held his lip and looked at the blood, licking it with his tongue, sitting on Kurt's midsection. At first Kurt was proud of himself for the action; that pride soon tumbled into doubt as he noticed the animal hunger in Karofsky's eyes increase. Suddenly he wasn't so sure that fighting violence with violence was exactly a turn off for the other boy. "You're going to regret that, Hummel," he said.

He already did.

So he panicked and pushed Karofsky off his body, and scrambled on to his knees to get to his phone. He was only a foot away from it when he felt hands around his ankles pull him back. "NO!" Kurt said, struggling as he attempted to kick him off. "HELP! SOMEONE!"

"Scream as much as you want, Hummel. We're far enough in the corn that even if someone was nearby... they'd never find us." It was the way he said us that sent a shiver down to parts he wanted to deny existed around Karofsky; he said us instead of you. Tears were coming down his face and he dug his fingers into the ground, trying to claw his way to the phone. He almost reached it when Karofsky finally pulled him back with a strong tug.

Seeing his hope quickly diminish in front of him, Kurt grabbed a handful of dirt and turned around, throwing it in Karofsky's face. "FUCK! You fucking BITCH!"

Kurt pushed him off of him, finally free, when he felt a fist grab his shirt and fingers dig into the back of his skin. Pushed to the ground with an arm around his throat as Karofsky squeezed. He spat out dirt and blinked, shaking his face and rubbing his eyes. "You little asshole! That fucking hurt!"

"Good! Get used to it-" He was spun around as he spoke.

Karofsky slapped him across the cheek.

It was the first time Karofsky ever struck him. He had shoved him before, pushed him, slushied him... but never once in their miserable acquaintance did Karofsky hit Hummel. Both seemed to be in slight shock in this realization, neither knowing the other was thinking the same thing. Kurt turned his head to look at Karofsky in the eye, his shiny with tears. Karofsky's were red and irritated, wet as well. They were silent for a moment until Karofsky pushed Kurt to the ground.

Kurt just laid there.

Karofsky straddled Kurt's chest, balancing his weight carefully. He had his knees on Kurt's arms to prevent him for flailing around, keeping both hands free. Kurt looked away into a row of corn, concentrating on the green-blues of nature than the horrid hazel of his oppressor. He couldn't believe that Karofsky actually hit him. He didn't know why it shocked him considering how physically violent the jock was and threatened to be but it unsettled him. It made him rethink if he could predict Karofsky after all (no, he never could - not since that kiss anyway.)

Dave unzipped his fly, hating the sound. Something was suddenly filthy about the situation and he knew it was because he raised a hand to Kurt. He could see the tender spot on the cheek he directed the force at and felt angry. _He deserved it_, he thought. He threw dirt in his eyes! He acted like he was so high and mighty when he wasn't. Dave would show he wasn't. He took out his cock which was half hard and noticed how Kurt wasn't even paying attention to him anymore. He didn't know what made him more raw: him ignoring Dave or that he stopped fighting. Stopped reacting. Stopped being Kurt.

His hand wandered down behind him, slowly going down Kurt's chest to his belly to his navel, noticing with pleasure that Kurt's breath had started to quicken and he'd shifted around slightly underneath him. Bingo. He unbuttoned the top part of the fly, bringing the zipper down slowly, all the while staring down at Kurt's face, watching for a change. Kurt's eyes squinted in the direction of the corn's roots, finally closing tight. "Stop it, Karofsky."

He ignored him, his hand going into the tight crotch to retrieve an object of interest. Kurt's eyes bugged open; his mouth was a tiny 'o.' "Karofsky," he whined. "Ahhh..." It came out more sensual than he meant it to be as he moved his hips around when the jock got a good grip on his member.

"For someone who says they don't like this, you sure are hard, Hummel."

"Fuck y-" Kurt started to say but he remembered Karofsky's earlier rebuttal and kept mum this time.

Karofsky grinned, his tongue slightly out at the corner of his mouth as he pumped the member slowly. Up and down. Up and down. _Tight _grip. _Oh. Ohh. Oooh_, Kurt thought as he tried not to give in. The bastard wasn't going to win this. He wasn't going to own him. He wasn't going to treat him like this and get away with it. "S-stop it," he said. Even his tone was unconvinced at the words he forced out as he started to moan.

Karofsky was touching himself too, in time with the ministrations he was delivering on the poor boy underneath him. "What's that? I can't hear you," he gleefully said as he peered down at the angelic face right below his cock.

"I saiiid... Ooooh..."

Dave gave a short laugh, growing incredibly hard as he listened to those absolutely delicious moans. "That's what I thought you said."

"I-aaah... haaaate you sooo muccch," Kurt panted, his hips jerking upwards as he lolled his head back and forth on the ground. "Unngghhh..." It was deja vu all over again, Dave thought as he looked over at the dick in his hands. This should be absolutely disgusting to him. He shouldn't even be doing this. But he couldn't stop - it felt too good, too natural (so unnatural). He looked back at Kurt's face and decided it was safe enough to get off him. The boy wasn't going to run around with his junk exposed (no guy would be that stupid.) He put himself over the boy's body, continuing to stroke him until their bare genitals touched one another.

"Ah-" Kurt's eyes went wide at the silky feeling and then became heavy lidded as Karofsky put his lips over his. His own lips were raw from Kurt biting them and there was still blood there but it didn't stop him from doing what he had to do.

It hurt to kiss him.

It hurt him more _not_ to kiss him.

He willed the boy's mouth to open, coaxing it with all of his kissing skills: biting, licking, chewing, sucking. They opened and soon his tongue went into Kurt's mouth, sliding back and forth on his. There was an erotic twinge that traveled down to Kurt's pulsating member and he groaned, starting to kiss back. The reaction created a tenfold response in Karofsky who held the back of the boy's head with his arm, creating a soft place for him to rest on as they kissed. With Kurt's arms released, they didn't push or punch or beat Karofsky.

They instead went up and down his chest, finally hooking over the bigger boy's neck to cement their kiss. Karofsky couldn't believe it, his own kissing becoming more intense as he rubbed his cock against his companion's. There was a sudden moan from Kurt's mouth, something so cute and delicious that hearing it reminded him of a girl's. But it was different; deeper, more solid sounding. There was no noticeable pitch and when that moan was followed with a breathy sigh, Karofsky just about lost it. His thumbs hooked into Kurt's snug skinny jeans at the hip, playing with the waist.

"Why do you have to wear such tight ass jeans," Dave growled, kissing Kurt on the lips. "They fucking drive me crazy." He moved down, kissing and tasting his way to Kurt's crotch.

Kurt only exhaled as a response, trying to catch his own breath. He blinked, trying to get his bearings. What just happened?

Then he felt his pants being forcefully pulled off. He tried sitting up but it was too late - his pants were at his ankles, his shame entirely exposed for Karofsky to see and exploit. Kurt didn't feel any outrage in him left; he only felt full on arousal that needed to be given attention to. He saw the way Karofsky was looking at it and waited for him to touch it, to take away the feeling and give him the release just so he could get it over with. Seconds went by and he was beginning to become not just cold but disappointed as well. His hands tentatively went to his groin only to be slapped away by Dave who put a hand selfishly on it. It was a tense moment that went by as their eyes met in a clash of wills.

Dave licked his lips, considering the boy's punishment. Even now when all he wanted to do was to take him, he had to remind Hummel just who was in command of who. His dismissal wasn't just embarrassing; it chafed him in a way that he wanted rectified. Physical humiliation wouldn't be enough for Hummel - he would have to agree to whatever Dave said he was. This gave him an idea. "I want you to say it."

"S-say what?"

"Tell me what a..." he searched for the word, an unfriendly smile coming onto his lips, "..._slut_ you are."

Kurt's eyes went wide with horror. "No!" His outrage was coming back with a vengeance as he struggled out of Karofsky's grip with no luck.

His bully was giving feather touches to his cock, fingers massaging it slowly up and down. Kurt's eyes nearly went into the back of his head. Oooh yes... (oooh no.)

Then the hand paused at the tip, rubbing thoughtfully. "Say you're a cocktease, Hummel."

_Don't do it_, Kurt said to himself. _Don't say it_, he thought as those expert fingers wore down him in a different way than violence and threats could achieve. He was breathing harder than before and he licked his lips. "I'm a-" he shut his eyes, ashamed. "I'm a cocktease."

His reward was Karofsky's strong but gentle grip around his member, stroking him in a tantalizingly cruel way. But his bully wasn't done yet. "...Say what a whore you are."

He could feel the tears begin to collect in his eyes and when he opened them to look at Karofsky who was staring at his face, a teardrop rolled down his cheek. "I'm a whore," he whispered, the coiled pressure in him building as Karofsky increased his tempo. The shame built up in him as well as he unabashedly welcomed the advances. Dave stuck out his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, loving the look of pure degradation on Hummel's face. Something so pretty being tarnished brought chills to him and he put a hand on his manhood, his eyes never leaving Kurt's.

"Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

It was the way that he worded it, his eyes never blinking or wavering from his own as if to say to Kurt, "I'm not shying away from this and neither are you" that really turned him on. He knew it shouldn't but it did; it really, really did. What did he want? He wanted to get away, didn't he? He nibbled on his lips, taking in all of the sensations that Karofsky was giving him. No, that wasn't it... what he wanted was to come so badly. "I-I.. need..." he closed his eyes and gulped, whispering, "to come..."

"How?"

Kurt was at a loss - ANY way would've been fine with him, as long as it got the job done. "I-I-"

"You want your cock sucked don't you, you little slut - don't you?"

If Kurt's eyes got any bigger, his head would've been tagged an accessory. Karofsky didn't just say that... did he? "W-what?"

"Does the slut want her cock sucked?"

Maybe it was the way he said it, leaning in with his lips and his eyes all over Kurt... or maybe it was the dirty words, words he'd never been exposed to in this sense, but his hips jerked up and he grabbed Karofsky's shoulders. "Suck it," he said in a low tone, panting.

"Unh-unh," Karofsky shook his head and Kurt grew desperate as those fingers swiveled around his cock. "That's not how you ask. Do it again... nicely." _He loves this. He enjoys seeing me degraded and be debased_, he realized, the tears coming down his cheek. Kurt wished he could fight it but his lust had overtaken his pride that was breaking in half for Dave Karofsky. If he didn't say anything, this feeling would go away and what awful things did Karofsky have in store for him then where no one could hear him scream? He decided not to take a chance.

"Please suck my..." Kurt looked away, his breath hitched on a sob. "my... my c-cock."

Karofsky leaned his face down, his hot breath on Kurt's exquisitely pale and hard member. Feeling the sensation, Kurt's eyes shut and he lifted his hips to get closer on instinct. Karofsky's hands gently pushed him down, breathing on Kurt's erection, teasing him to madness. So close, so far away. "Now tell me who's slut you are."

There was a silence as Kurt fought with himself. He'd given in before but this was asking too much; to label himself as Karofsky's possession even in the heat of the moment was admitting something that he'd battled from the start. He didn't know that something was power and that even his denial was driving him closer and closer to giving it up to Karofsky. Karofsky owned him sexually - he just didn't want to acknowledge it. Those hands torturing him, hurting him in the best way possible - oh it was too much to endure, especially for someone so young. It was not a fair fight.

"Yours."

"What was that?"

Kurt let out a heavy exhale, hands digging into Karofsky's shoulders. He wanted to cause him some pain. "I'm your slut."

Karofsky's lips were on him the instant he said it, first teasingly kissing it and then tentative (turned enthusiastic) licks. Kurt's eyes shut as he savored this sordid moment, guiltily enjoying the pleasure brought to him from the one who inspired so much pain. "Oh my god," Kurt mouthed, biting his lip. His eyes went wide open as his body went crazy; he'd never felt anything like this before. It was-it was-

Oooohhhh.

No words. No words could capture what this was for him.

All that mattered was that it didn't stop. He looked down at the boy bobbing on his member and felt himself go harder. The visual was making him feel like steel that was only being strengthened by the soft wetness of Karofsky's mouth. Oh sweet Prada, Kurt thought, his tongue coming out wantonly as if to kiss an invisible lover. He didn't want it to feel this good, not from Karofsky. Even as he thought that, he didn't want him to stop. Anything but that. "Yes, god, please, don't stop. Don't stop, don't stop," Kurt said as he began to move his hips up and down.

Dave's hand wandered up to rest possessively on Kurt's flat and toned belly, stroking it as he went up and down. His tongue went up the length and he swallowed the head. Dave felt crazy; this was supposed to be the most disgusting part about the ordeal - having another guy's dick in your mouth. And yet, he loved it. How it felt in his mouth, the shape, the taste; he even loved the way he could feel it move and pulsate in him. And he _especially_ loved how it drove Kurt over the edge. The more he sucked, the more he tried to fit more in his mouth until he had it about all in him. And that caused more moans from Kurt. He felt the boy's hands in Dave's hair, pulling, tugging, petting his face, and even at one point, pushing down on his head. The strangest thing was that he didn't mind it at all.

Kurt was more conflicted on the matter.

He hated it.

He loved it.

He loved the moment those lips were wrapped around something only he touched until two days ago.

He hated that something in him broke down the line.

He loved that he was bucking his hips to make the sensation deeper and more intense.

He hated that Karofsky met these thrusts with equal, if not more, vigor.

He loved that while he was crying, he couldn't remember feeling more alive, more free when he couldn't have felt more trapped.

He hated that Karofsky's hair wasn't the sharp bed of knives he expected it to be; it was soft, like his own, but the added sweat and musk made it a little wet and he grabbed it, wanting to cause pain in Karofsky. He wanted to make him as bald and fat as he once taunted to his face. But instead his grip was loose like a flea attached to a follicle - only going up and down with the ride.

Most of all, he hated how he was moaning, sounding exactly like the things Karofsky accused him of being: slut. whore. cocktease. (_His slut. His whore. His cocktease_, his mind whispered hotly with each of Karofsky's swallows and gulps.)

He hated that it didn't bother him at the moment.

All that really mattered was his dick in this supposedly straight boy's mouth and how it was getting him closer and closer to coming.

Karofsky, on the other hand, couldn't have been more pleased with himself. Kurt was not only reacting the way he knew would react, he was loving it too. _Let's see him try to cry rape on this one_, he thought as he brought his lips round the head and swirled his tongue around the sensitive bit causing a sharp gasp from Kurt. He sucked on it a little harder which led to Kurt to tangle his fingers in his hair, making a fist. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," the smaller boy repeated as he bit his lip. "Oh fuck-"

Karofsky sensed this was it - he was making Kurt Hummel, his little ice queen, orgasm. A part of him didn't know what he was going to do when that moment did indeed, come. Swallow or spit? What was more gay?

Before he could make his mind on what would make him more queer, Kurt's grip on Dave's hair tightened and he let out a long high-pitched moan as his come split out of him. Dave flinched expecting the taste to be akin to acid but it was salty and a little sweet... it was almost like the taste he got from licking his skin. He cautiously swallowed, his eyelids shutting as he soon became an enthusiastic cleaner for Kurt's member. Even when all evidence was licked away, Dave couldn't pry himself off the organ. Kurt lay on the ground, still recovering from the most intense orgasm he'd ever felt. A part of him thought this was the perfect moment to shove Karofsky away... and then another part was curious to whether or not he could get hard so quickly after that particularly sadistic experience. He soon got his answer.

Dave lazily sucked on Kurt's manhood, tongue trailing down to the sac. Upon seeing and hearing Kurt's delighted reaction Karofsky went further, inspired and encouraged by the sighs of frustration and the constant wiggling of Kurt's hips. The further down he went, the louder the squeals became. Dave become drunk on the power to at will cause this sort of effect in Kurt. For someone who hated him, he was sure acting like he loved whatever he was doing. _Little slut,_ Dave thought with humor, a grin spreading on his face as he tentatively sucked, aware of the sensitivity of the area.

Just the action alone brought Kurt to sit up and grab Karofsky's head, pressing it hard against the spot. "YES! Oh god yessss like that-" he raised his hips to Dave's mouth. "Just like that!"

Well. It seems the boy likes it.

Dave raised his head up, panting for air. Jesus Christ, Kurt was strong. He rubbed his hand over Kurt's smooth thigh, marveling at the muscle that spasmed underneath it. Though he dressed and acted like a girl, his body was far from it. So toned, so lean and thin... so undeniably _hot_. Hot for him (and only him) - Dave Karofsky. A wolfish grin spread on his lips as he leaned forward to catch Kurt's lips in the act of moaning, letting his tongue wander in. He was rewarded with a lick back as Kurt's hands tugged and pulled at his hair. Between kisses, he whispered into Kurt's mouth how beautiful he was, how sexy and hot he made him, how much he wanted to touch him and fuck him til it hurt all over. All Kurt would give back were moans.

Dave's lips went to Kurt's ear, not minding the sudden yell and the way Kurt's nails dug into his back. If anything, this pain felt good. He sucked on the lobe, chewing on it lightly, and tickled the underside of the ear with his tongue. Kurt writhed underneath him, his hands going everywhere. "Oh my god, yes! Oh god, Karofsky - fuck yes, fuck yes! Oohh-" Kurt's lips were on Dave's neck, sucking and biting with even more passion than the last night they were together. Only this time Kurt was definitely sober... and he'd definitely remember everything.

"Oh god, baby." Dave sighed into the boy's neck as he nuzzled it, enjoying the attention. He kissed it softly as Kurt bit and pulled at his skin. Those butterfly kisses trailed up to his chin and then on Kurt's cheeks and lips. "Why do you-" Kiss. "Have to be-" Kiss. "So fucking hot?"

Kurt looked into Dave's eyes as his hands wandered down to Dave's member, touching it tentatively. "I could ask the same for you," he breathed back, earning him a hard kiss in return. He heard and felt the vibration of Dave's moan as he gripped the other boy's cock, touching it delicately. What did he know about this stuff except what he did to himself? His hands cupped around the organ, going up and down, moving the skin with them. Dave pulled on Kurt's bottom lip with his teeth, his tongue licking it.

"I want you so bad, Kurt," he hissed as he went into the crook of boy's neck. His hand was on Kurt's as he pressed it into his groin. Then he pulled it away, holding both Kurt's hands above the boy's head as he leaned down to rub his cock against his. He spat on the organ, which made Kurt look away in momentary shame. Then the magic started to happen as the friction between them grew more and more. It turned Kurt on to hear the other boy's grunts in his ear. To feel his weight crushing him. To feel their genitals stick together in sex that he never thought was possible. His eyelids fluttered and he tried to move his hands but Dave kept them gripped tight above his head. He wasn't going to let him move or be free; he was Dave's prisoner in more ways than one.

And that thought about sent him over the edge. His moans grew more urgent as Dave's grunts grew more frequent.

"Yeah, baby," Dave mumbled into the boy's ear. "Just like that. Oh god, yeah, just like that. Oh-oh-" he tensed, digging his pubic bone into Kurt's body. "I love y-" he caught himself by burying his face in Kurt's neck as he came. Kurt convulsed, letting out a sharp cry as he came too. A minute went by and they were still panting. Dave finally lifted himself off Kurt and rolled over, a hand running through his hair.

Both were silent.

Did that really just happen?

Kurt looked down, suddenly disgusted with the whole ordeal. There was a sticky wetness on his belly like there was that morning and it made him feel sick. How could he- how could he just do this to him and get away with it? He turned to Karofsky, hating him as much as he hated himself for not fighting. For giving in. For letting himself say all those awful things Dave made him say. He was no one's slut - no one's whore. He was Kurt Hummel, not to be pushed around by some country doughboy in the closet.

He grabbed Karofsky's discarded sweatshirt and wiped the come off his belly, sneering as he did so. Absolutely filthy, he thought. Rolling around in the dirt like animals. He looked at his shirt and saw that it was ripped. Great. Fucking great. A Karoni original. Wasted. Fucking wonderful. He looked over his shoulder to give a dirty look to Karofsky who was watching him carefully.

"Thanks for the wonderful evening out," Kurt spat, throwing the soiled sweatshirt at him.

Dave's eyes narrowed, not loving Kurt's tone. "No problem," he spat back. "Do you always give it up this easily or do you have a fag crush on me after all?"

Oh no he didn't.

He didn't just say that.

Kurt pulled up his pants in a fury, nearly ripping them in half in the process. "FUCK YOU!" He got up, shaking with anger.

"You did."

"I MEAN IT, KAROFSKY! I am DONE. I am done with this bullshit act of yours. First you terrify me - then you get me drunk! Then you rape me, and then you did it again! What the fuck is the matter with you?"

Dave bristled. "Didn't you like it?"

"How could I ever like someone who has to force their unpleasantness on someone else? How could I ever like a abhorrent rapist?"

Dave got up, shaking with anger. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a rap-"

"The fuck I am!"

"You raped me, genius - that makes you a rapist."

Dave looked at Kurt like he had grown two heads. Then he snapped into action. "Well, let me ask you a question, smarty pants - if you were all traumatized and raped, why were you out on a date with that gay tool! Huh?" David looked very pleased with himself as he saw Kurt blush and become flustered.

"None of your business, that's why!"

"AHA! You're a faker-"

"I am not a faker-"

"You so are!" Dave pointed a finger at Kurt's chest. Kurt looked at the offending appendage and then back at Dave, stepping closer to him. "You just don't want to admit what a fucking slut you are!"

"Not-"

Dave yelled in his face, preventing him from getting a word in. "FAKE! SLUT! FAKE!"

"At least someone actually _wants_ to go out with me! I don't have to hold them hostage to get some!"

Dave was silent. Then he stepped forward until he was centimeters away Kurt's face, still staring into his eyes. "Take that back."

"No." His voice slightly wavered.

"Take it back, I said."

"No. I won't. Not ever."

Dave grabbed the torn part of Kurt's shirt, making a fist with it. In the back of Kurt's mind, he winced at the wrinkles it would make. "I said, take it back, Hummel."

"Why would I ever take back something that's true?"

There was silence as Dave lifted his fist in the air and Kurt closed his eyes.

Seconds went by.

Nothing happened.

Dave let go of Kurt and then went to his sweatshirt, picking it up, and walked away. Kurt opened his eyes and looked after him. "Where are you going?"

"Home," Dave said, not bothering to look back.

* * *

The ride back was tense, both boys in their own minds. Karofsky didn't touch Kurt this time and instead looked out the window as they drove back to Lima.

Dave tapped his fingers against the armrest, watching the cornfields for entertainment. He couldn't believe what a shitty ending this night was turning out to be. To think he missed curfew for this bullshit. Though, he thought, looking over Kurt out of the corner of his eye... he supposed it was worth it to feel that hot, randy body against his one last time.

One last time.

Yeah.

_No more after this_, he thought, angry with himself for giving into his... _urges._ No more Kurt Hummel invading his thoughts. No more touching him. Hell, no more even thinking about Kurt Hummel. And no more of this gay shit. He was a man; it was time he started acting like one.

And where did Kurt fucking Hummel get off accusing him off rape? ...Again?

Okay, number one - Dave made sure to get his consent this time. Number two, well, there was no real other point to make now that he thought of it. His first words after sex was "thanks for the wonderful night out". It would've been a dream come true if not for Kurt's bitchy ass tone that was attached to it. Dave sneered, mocking it in his head: "I'm Kurt. I'm a slutty gay whore who likes to fuck with guy's minds. ESPECIALLY DAVE'S."

"Stupid," he mumbled under his breath, huffing as he crossed his arms across his chest.

What was going to happen now?

His eyes went on Kurt again who was driving without comment. It was total silence in the car that neither one wanted to break first (or at all). Was he going to tell? Was he going to definitely brag to all of his faggy girlfriends on the time of his life? "Dave Karofsky, he made me come - twice!" And then they would say, "You don't say!" "Mmm." "You lucky boy."

Then they'd all know. Then everyone would know. Then his father and mother would know.

And that left him paralyzed. He really fucked up this time. He fumbled with his hands, picking at his nails; it was a nervous gesture, his father once told him. A tic that comes out in times of great stress. It was an extraordinary tell, betraying his poker face entirely. Fuck, he thought. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He just had to go and be spontaneous. He had to see Kurt and just... lose control. He lost it. Even now, he wanted it again; more, and more, and more. When would it ever stop?

It was all his fault, he thought, glaring at Kurt, who was oblivious to Dave's train of thought. Ever since Kurt Hummel popped up in his life, he'd been getting more confused by the minute. Every time that boy was in his line of sight, everything else seemed to fade away. That scared him more than anything. Not being able to see clearly for once in his life frightened him. It troubled him that a part of him actually liked that, too.

Kurt, on the other hand, felt slimy and covered in grime. He needed another hot shower for the third time in the past 24 hours. It had to have been a record. No, maybe not a shower. Maybe a bath. A submersion into a jacuzzi of medical alcohol to fully detox and rid the last traces of David Karofsky from his body. At least he didn't actually put himself in Kurt's body. For some reason that made him shiver to think of Dave Karofsky's cock in-

"-TCH OUT!"

He blinked, looking at the hands gripping the steering wheel. "Jesus Christ, Hummel. You really do want to die, don't you?"

"What?"

"You did it again. You weren't watching the fucking road." Dave was watching it intently as a contrast, not even bothering to look at the driver. "Stupid," he said. "You could've really hurt yourself." Then he caught himself. "And me."

Kurt rolled his eyes, batting the boy away. "Whatever. I'm sure more harm would've come to you than to me," he said coolly, betraying his beating bunny heartbeat. When Karofsky leaned in, Kurt smelled that soap scent, feeling his groin tightened. Oh Gaga, he thought, his grip getting harder on the wheel. Don't tell me I'm actually attracted to this son of a bitch. He soothed himself by saying he wasn't and that it was just the effects of his innocence being taken away... Dave Karofsky was the lowest being on the face of the Earth as far as he was concerned.

"Are you listening?"

Kurt pursed his lips and didn't answer.

"I said, you better not tell anyone, Hummel."

"Yeah, like I'm gonna shout it from the rooftops, Karofsky: Yay! Look at me! I got deflowered by the dumbest jock at McKinley! And then he went back for seconds! Whoopee!" He scoffed. "Trust me, Karofsky. I'm never going to tell anyone. Ever. I'd rather die first."

Dave slouched in his seat, a bit put off by Kurt's remarks. He thought Kurt enjoyed himself tonight. Either he was playing hard to get or he was just that hard to read (and even harder to please.) Whatever, he thought. None of my business. Specially that I'm never, ever, ever going to go near that homo ever again. As they neared Main st., Dave saw that his was the only car still in the parking lot. So late at night, there was not another soul in the area. He sighed. He was really going to get ripped apart for being so late.

Kurt stopped the car and both waited in the cab portion of the SUV. Kurt waited for him to take his leave and then finally turned to look at him to get the message across.

Their eyes met.

Then those eyes went to their respective lips.

Kurt's tongue flicked out, licking his salty skin. It still tasted like Karofsky. It didn't bother him as much as it did a few minutes ago. But when Dave leaned in for a kiss, the spell was broken. Kurt thought, _That's it, that takes the cake. Who does he think he is? Valentino?_ He wasn't going to let Dave think it was okay to treat him this way._  
_

He turned his face letting Dave's lips brush against his cheek. They lingered there for a moment before he retreated back to his seat.

Karofsky stared at the dashboard, trying to contain his emotions. He wanted to make up for being an asshole and of course, leaned in for a kiss that he thought Kurt would reciprocate given the look he was giving him (Dave could recognize that look; he'd seen it on his own face when he thought of Kurt.)

But no.

He had to be all proud and gay and _stupid_ like he usually was.

It was too fucking much. Hummel really knew how to ruin a fucking moment.

Kurt didn't know what to say and only gave a glance at the angry expression on Karofsky's face. Instead of holding out his fists or grabbing him, his bully simply kicked open the door and slammed it shut.

It was almost funny that it was that moment that stuck to Kurt out of the million encounters he's had with Karofsky. It almost felt like Karofsky was... heartbroken.

Kurt rolled his eyes as he started the engine of his car, shifting into drive as he realized how late it was... and that he missed ten calls from his father.

"Great," he muttered, disliking Dave Karofsky with a passion. "Just wonderful."

How on earth was he ever going to explain this to his father?

Little did he know that Karofsky was thinking the same thing as he sat in his car.

* * *

Soundtrack for the chapter I used to help me write: "These Things" by She Wants Revenge, "Poker Face" and "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga, "Walk Away" by Christina Aguilera, "Kiss with a Fist" by Florence + The Machine, and of course, "Control" by Puddle of Mudd.

Has anyone checked the archives lately? **There's an outbreak of Kurtofsky smut!** My dream is coming true! *shakes random person* KAROMMEL SMUT FOR EVVVERYONE!

On a lighter note, this chapter was harder than I thought to write. Really violent and dark but at the same time, super smutsville. Haha - whoo! But at least it came out great (right? ._.) "Furt" did end up distracting me a bit but in a good/bad way. I got way into Glee more than I have before to the point of following several Glee specific tumblrs and even went a bit ballistic on my twitter for a while there, fangirling major on Karofsky/Max Adler (oh god the embarrassment I feel for myself). And then I'm going through weird issues at home so it was a lot for me to force myself to sit down and write. But I did it. Proud!

(Did anyone else get shivers when Karofsky looked at Kurt and took the wedding topper? And when he was like "omg my heart is broken k tnx" when he got expelled? HOT.)

On a side note: Kate Nash's "Nicest Thing" reminds me of what I feel Karofsky feels for Kurt. Also, watched _Milk_. Crazy ass movie; I couldn't help but notice how Dan White eerily was like Ghost of Christmas Future for Dave Karofsky. Talk about creepy.

Thanks for supporting this story, guys. Really means a lot. A lot.

Be ready for a drama-heavy chapter next. We finally meet Dave's dad and it'll be my in-depth impression of what occurred in "Furt" which I'm still considering writing into the events even though this is plainly an Alternate Universe fic. We'll seeeeee.


	5. Fathers

Rating: M (Iz okay, guys - there are no cornfields in this one.)

**Pandora's Box**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

It was his eyes that scared David the most.

There was a skill in the way he could just look at David to make him crumble and fall, in a much different way than when he looked at Kurt's eyes.

When he looked at Kurt, it inspired him when nothing did (_when nothing should_.)

It made him feel crazy.

It made him feel sane.

It made him see clear and foggy and sideways and frontways and allways at the same time.

It made him see and feel things he thought he couldn't. Shouldn't. Would never in a million years feel or want to feel: Desire. Laughter. Hate. Cruelty. Rage. Jealousy. The ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum he feels in his chest when he sees him, smells him, tastes him. All of the good, all of the bad, _all at the same time_ - but what was the best was that it felt like _something_. As much as it confused him and irritated him... hell, he didn't know what he would do if it was just taken away from him. He tasted something that he couldn't untaste or take back, and as much as he leaned back to stay where he was, his feet were taking him forward into a scary but beautiful world.

But when he looked into his father's eyes though, it was the opposite.

It sucked everything dry.

It didn't make him feel like anything - it made him feel like nothing. Like there was no Dave Karofsky - just a black hole that walked, talked, and went through the motions. He remembered what it was like before he really noticed Kurt, was really dazzled by Kurt: waking up in the dull atmosphere, roaming the hallways with his poker face, making others feel like he felt: gray. His father's all-seeing eyes was starting to get to him. It was like a vacuum into his soul, seeping in and taking everything out until he was a shell of a person. Until he felt like dying.

And then he saw Kurt.

The first time he saw Kurt he had to do a double take. For a moment he got excited; he actually thought it was a girl he was attracted to. Imagine his disappointment (wonderment) when it was a boy instead. He remembered thinking that the kid bothered him in a way no one else really had. Gotten under his skin just by glancing at him, dismissing him with his eyes. _I'm so much better than you,_ they said. _You don't matter to me_, they scoffed. All as he was walking past. And then he would smile at someone else, with David looking on wishing that smile was for him.

That smile of his. Oh - that smile. He closed his eyes thinking about it, his groin tightening.

After that, he couldn't exactly figure out why he would go out of his way just to see the little homo. At the end of sophmore year, seeing him all dressed up, it set off alarm bells leading all the way down to his cock. That terrified him for the first time. He went home, looked down at his hands as his father talked to him, and tried not to think about (but it was all he thought about.) His father not finding out was a miracle in itself.

Kurt Hummel.

He mouthed the boy's name on his lips, a dreamy smirk coming onto them. The taste of him was still in his mouth, still fresh with need and want. He looked at the door, his smile fading.

Something about Kurt just hit him square in the chest and he didn't know what it was. He was going crazy. Why couldn't he just let it go? He leaned against the doorway, letting out a sigh. And more importantly, why didn't he mind it?

Even after the shit ending tonight had to offer, why couldn't he bring himself to regret it more? He looked at the door in front of him, a sinking feeling appearing in his gut. And why did he only regret it when it came to his father finding out?

His hand tentatively touched the doorknob. On the door was a cheery message: WELCOME TO THE KAROFSKY'S! It was insidious deception; even the door lied about what his family was really like. He let out a scoff, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. It's funny... he never felt welcome once in his own home. His sweatshirt hung at his side. It was cold but he didn't want to put it on. His come and Kurt's come were all over it and he didn't even want to know what his father would say if he was wearing it. (More importantly, would the stain come out? That was something for his mom to tackle.) He took a hand out, raising it to the handle.

He lifted his hand off the doorknob, his courage dropping. He should just leave. Never come back. Jump off a bridge. Anything but this. Anything.

Then he touched it again, as if it was going to burn him; he pulled his hand to his side, making a fist. He felt like such a coward.

Paul Karofsky never had to raise his hand to send the boy a message. David wished he did; somehow that would've felt easier to have a bruise than to deal with his words. It would've been better to treat a cut and stop the bleeding rather than lay awake for hours in his bed trying to forget his father's latest opinion of him. He wished he could just run away. He wished he could just deal with it. He wished, he wished, oh god, how he wished he was Kurt Hummel. Faggy, faggy homoerotic tight pants _glitterfuckingtastic_ Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel with the perfect life, the accepting father and friends... Kurt Hummel who wasn't gray but literally all colors of the rainbow instead.

He hated being David Karofsky.

He hated being who he was - _what _he was.

He hated being a rat in a corner, trapped in a labyrinth of no end.

He hated being hungry but not knowing what to be hungry for...

He hated lying to everyone, even himself, about what he wanted.

He hated constantly fighting and never being able to relax.

He hated being forced to talk to his father about his day. He hated his mother who just stood by and looked down at her feet while she waited for her turn. He hated the fact that no matter what he did, Kurt Hummel would be just like his father - he would find something wrong with him and never like him the way that David Karofsky did.

He hated his life.

He hated pretending that everything was alright when it was all fucking crumbling down, all the fucking time, all fucking _now now now._

He hated that the moment he would set foot in his own home, he'd be hunted. He'd be interrogated. He'd be tortured. He'd be dead.

He knew from the moment that crease set in his father's forehead, the way those eyes seemed to point at him like knives, that he fucked up.

And he did this time... utterly so.

He couldn't imagine what his father would think of his latest mistake. How he'd tear it apart in front of him. How he'd analyze his actions... take out his notepad and pen and make him say it all in detail: from the moment he woke up to the second he laid his head on his pillow, it was only a narrative for his father to use to control his life. He would say: _What were you thinking, David? That this kid would actually like you? Like _you_? ... Tell me what he said again before you kissed him... That you _weren't_ his type. That you are an extraordinarily _ordinary_ boy. I can't see what possessed you to think that he would like you. Really._

_Tell me more.  
_

No.

No one likes him.

No one could like him.

No one would _ever _like him.

Especially not Kurt.

Not now, not ever, Dave thought, closing his eyes. He felt the prickle of wetness and blinked rapidly. He wasn't going to break; he wasn't going to break! Not anymore. He pasted a neutral face that came on so easily after years of use.

He squeezes his fists as he opened the door, steeling himself for the battle he'd lose tonight.

For the war that he could never win.

He walked into the darkness, closing the door lightly behind him. He somehow knew it was in vain but _what if_, he thought, as he crept down the hallway. What if tonight he got lucky? What if tonight God pitied him? What if he actually hoped for relief and actually got it?

He started to pass the living room when a light came on suddenly. David froze immediately realizing a million things at once. Among his many thoughts was the one berating himself, laughing at himself for actually hoping that he could get away with it for once. How stupid was he, he thought, reusing his father's own words. How stupid was he to think he could get a free pass this once? He closed his eyes against the light and turned to face it head on. Dave Karofsky was bad luck personified.

"It's late," the man across from him said, a sharp black pen in his wrinkled hand. He was gray too. There was a book on the table as usual. His father was reading under the yellow light in the living room. It was some smart book on psychology. The subject terrified David. The act of peering into someone's mind to see who and what they really were made him feel nauseous and anxious. Especially when his father did it.

Especially now.

David didn't respond, and merely put his hands in his pockets. What lie could he use now? He was covered in filth and it was almost 1 in the morning. His lip was clotted over and red; there were noticeable marks on his face. He could say he got in a fight, but with who? His father would dig it out of him, one way or another. And more importantly, _why_ he got in a fight.

On top of that, he hadn't been home since earlier yesterday when he left for the party and he didn't know how to explain that. He uneasily shifted from one foot to another, his sneakers squeaking on the floorboards. Suddenly he was hit with a wave of fatigue. The night's activities had caught up with him and he checked himself in mid-sway as he held onto the doorway for support.

His father remained very still, almost unnaturally so. Only his face seemed to be capable of moving. Only his eyes.

They were perfect opposites.

"Where were you, David?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. Not to him. Not about something he wanted to deny, even to himself, didn't happen. His father was playing with his ballpoint pen in his fingers, his notepad in his lap riddled with notes that David couldn't (didn't want to) read.

"What were you doing?"

His father never even got up from his chair. He didn't have to. Paul Karofsky was calm. He was always calm. So different from David's impulses to scream, to yell, to show emotion; it was like they weren't even related. But David could see that vein on his father's neck; it was the same as his. It throbbed under pressure, in the midst of great anger. He moved slightly and gave a quick glance to the door, wanting to run into his room like he was a little kid again. (_He _was_ a little kid._)

"Answer me, David," his father said, forcing him to look up at him straight in the eyes. Paul Karofsky had more in common with Medusa that one would think; he had turned David into a stone sculpture.

"I..." His tongue was tied as he searched for words. It was no use. He knew that anything he said would be dismantled in front of him and proven to be a lie. His father would walk in verbal circles around him, picking out the inconsistencies, the obvious untruths. He would discover the truth one way or another and get to the bottom of it; and worse, David thought, was that he enjoyed it. David could tell that he did. Sick pleasure from insults, from keeping someone down just below breathing space and watch as they drowned in a sea of their own incompetence. That's what got him off.

And that was why David was afraid of his father. Without a bruise, without a scrape, without so much as a slur, Paul Karofsky intimidated his boy in a way that he couldn't be caught. It was a sick way of life. This was David's life. It was the only one he knew. It was the only one he would know.

"Sit down."

There was a hesitation but only for a few moments as David kept the unblinking stare. He sat down on the couch, a few feet away from his father. He flinched when Paul reached for his notepad, righting it on his lap. He clicked his pen.

"Now tell me... what were you doing out so late?"

"Just... hanging out." He broke the stare, not strong enough to compete with his father's icy eyes.

"Hanging out. With friends?"

David swallowed and looked down at his hands folded across his lap. "Yeah."

"Who?"

"Just a friend."

His father was staring at him like he was an imbecile. "You said that. Who?"

His mind raced for a person; how could he describe Kurt without lying? More importantly, how could he describe Kurt the most masculine way he could? "Just a guy from the football team," he mumbled, hoping his father wouldn't delve deep. He was disappointed.

"Who."

David's hands were shaking slightly and he gripped his knees to cover it up. There was no way he'd say his name to him. No way in hell. Even with this conviction, a bead of sweat dripped down his brow. He could feel his father's stare grow more intense. And he felt weaker and weaker by the second in his presence. He just wanted to sleep. Why couldn't his dad let him sleep?

"_Who_, David."

He didn't say anything.

"Look at me." David resisted for a few seconds, his eyes on the coffee table. There were magazines neatly on the table for presentation; Paul ran an orderly life... an orderly business... he wanted things neat, contained, and in a box to label and dissect. He wanted the model perfection for his life; the son to be proud of, the wife to be admired, and the life to be envied. David closed his eyes. He wanted the courage so badly to just go along with all of that, to keep pretending that it was all okay. But it wasn't. Then he raised his eyes to his father's. "Who were you with?"

He said it without thinking; he said it with as much thought as possible: "Azimio."

"Azimio?" Paul leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed, but David knew it was just to throw him off. He tensed. Something was wrong.

"Yeah, Azimio. We just lost track of time. I'm-I'm sorry." _Oh god, I'm sorry_, he thought. _Please, please let me go to sleep._ His eyelids drooped down and he forced them open, not wanting his father to notice his exhaustion. But he didn't beg; he knew better than that by now.

"Then why didn't you say so?"

He shrugged, his go-to action for dealing with intense confrontation. "I'm tired, dad... can I go to bed?"

His father ignored his request. He put a pen to his lips, looking very thoughtful for a minute. "You know, it's funny... I called Azimio's folks to see where you were."

Oh.

Shit.

He was toast. He licked his lips, aware of the salty sweat that coated his upper lip. His father was staring him down. Seriously, did this guy ever blink, Dave thought in a panic. From the time he was kid, it was the same thing over and over - whatever he did was wrong. Whatever he thought was stupid. Whatever he wanted he didn't. Whatever hope, however small, was squashed. And he did it in a way that it was all Dave's doing.

"And imagine my surprise to find out that Azimio last saw you around 8. And then he doesn't know where you went to. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," David said, slouching a bit into the cushion.

"So, I'll ask you this again: were you with Azimio - which, is impossible now that we've established certain facts are not what you've presented them to be... Or were you with someone else?"

"...Someone else."

"You lied to me, David. You know lies don't work in a healthy home." He swung a leg over his other leg, jiggling it a little. It was the only tell into his emotions (that is, if his father had any.) "It ruins the foundation, poisons the wellwater. You're killing us with your lies. Are you happy about that? Are you happy about killing your family with your inconsiderate lies?"

"No, sir," David said, trying to control himself. He started to squeeze his hands together, hoping his fingers would break and he'd pass out from the pain. Anything but this. Anything. His father was writing something down. He didn't know what. He didn't want to know.

"It's hard to believe you, David. It's hard to even bring myself to trust you when you don't deserve that trust."

"Please, dad," he said, closing his eyes to keep himself in check. "I just want to go to bed. After the night I've had-"

"After the night you've had? Please, enlighten me, David. I would love to know what you did. As your father, I think I deserve to know what exactly you did."

"I didn't do anything," he said, shaking as he stood up. It was exactly the opening his father was waiting for.

"You didn't do anything? Then why are you acting so defensive? Why are you acting nervous? I want to know why."

"It's nothing!" He yelled, even when he felt his father become bigger than him even without standing. _How did he do that_, he thought. How did he fucking make him feel like he was five years old every single time? Alone, defenseless, and no one to depend on? He was just going to keep pushing like how Kurt was pushing. More and more until he would finally erupt. Panic set off in Dave and he tried the most foolish thing he could: intimidation. "Just drop it, Dad. I mean it." Maybe it was that wording that set his father off, or maybe it was his tone... Maybe it was the fact that it was a challenge to Paul's dominance. Whatever it was, Paul Karofsky stood up and stared at his son.

"You never came home last night either."

David was silent. His rush of adrenaline and courage was leaking rapidly like helium from a hissing balloon and he felt himself sway and sit back down. He was caught in the crossfire of that stare.

His father didn't sit down. He put his notepad down on the perfect table, on the perfect magazines, just to focus on his imperfect son.

"Why is that?"

"I-I got drunk and had to sleep. I didn't want to drive home drunk."

"That so? How was the party?"

"Fine."

"Were there a lot of people?"

"I guess," David rubbed his arm, looking away.

"Did you spend time with anyone in particular?"

"A few," he said.

His father walked around him until he was behind him. He put his large hands on David's shoulders, not noticing (or not caring) his son's flinch. "Tell me more."

David closed his eyes. This was the game. This was where he'd seek another lie, another untruth to bite into and flesh out. He would trick David into feeling like shit and more importantly, revealing the things he didn't want revealed. There was no other choice but to play it. He opened them, focusing on the fireplace mantle. "There's nothing to tell! I just drank too much."

"You're not in your clothes from yesterday."

"I came home before you got here from work and changed."

"They're not in the hamper."

"I left them in my car."

"Why?"

"G-got lazy."

"So if I went to your car, I'd find your clothes?"

David nodded, not trusting his voice. His father switched gears.

"You missed dinner. Your mother cooked pot roast."

"I ate downtown with Azimio."

The grip tightened. David winced. "Are you sure about that?"

Azimio, that piece of shit, David thought. He told him that he was going to eat by himself. "No... sir."

The grip was released and he sighed, but the fun wasn't over yet. His father walked from him, fixing knickknacks on the fireplace sill. It had to be perfect. It had to be in place. He looked in the mirror over the fireplace, glancing at his son like they weren't having an intense conversation (interrogation, David thought.) "David, I want you to tell me who it was you spent the night with tonight. And last night, assuming you were with them as well." There was a pause. David gulped.

"N-no."

A hand paused on a knickknack. His son's refusal was a little new and curious to Paul. It was infuriating and fascinating at the same time. This would be a challenge - how fun. "... Who were you with, David?" It was of a country boy in overalls, smiling, with big doe eyes. It looked like Kurt. It was David's favorite showpiece and he often looked at it, thinking about the boy. Suddenly his father's hand encompassed all around it, gripping it like he wanted to kill it. Then he whirled around, throwing it right over David's head. It smashed against the wall into a thousand pieces. It missed him by only a few inches. He couldn't tell if it was bad aim or good luck.

"I asked you a question, young man. WHO were you WITH." The fact that he yelled didn't relieve David like he thought it would; it scared him even more. The way his father circled around him like a vulture; the way he knew his mother was awake, listening, crying. The way Kurt turned his face and refused his kiss. The way they were scared of him at school. The way he thrived on it. The way he wanted to break Kurt the same way that his father was breaking him. It all scared him.

"Just a friend," he said, his voice breaking at the end. He felt the Kurt-like knickknack all around him, broken, useless. He felt tears in his eyes and blinked them back, hating himself. How could he cry? How could he break? How could he be weak? He should be used to this by now. He should be invulnerable to this... but he wasn't.

Say it, his insides told him.

Just say it.

Say his name. Say it say it say it.

Anything but this.

Just say it.

He shook his head.

No, no, no.

His father gripped the sill as if trying to break it. There was a tense silence as he suddenly turned and walked very slowly to David. Each step made David more afraid. His father bent down to his level, his face close to his son's. He looked so in control, so tepid - his pressed tie and his ironed cardigan. Nothing could get to Paul Karofsky. Nothing. So cool and above emotions.

"WHO!" His father screamed in his face unexpectedly. Karofsky jumped off the couch.

"David, running away as always. Weak as always. You're just like your mother-" he heard behind him as he ran out of the living room.

"-disgusting display of-" David rounded the corner and sped up the stairs.

"-lying-" No, he shook his head as he got to the second floor. His father's voice traveled up as he felt him follow.

"-a weak person does this, David. You hear me? You're weak-"

He slammed into his door, opening it with shaking hands. He locked the door behind him.

"Always running away-" He pushed his dresser in front of the door and then his desk. He stepped away, still shaking. He almost said Kurt's name. He almost said it to his father; god knows what he would've done if he knew. What if he knew, David thought as he put his hands to his head, shaking it. No, no, no.

He heard his father come down the hall. He was walking. He didn't have to run. The echo of those soles made him jump each time.

Not feeling safe enough, he dragged his bed in front of the rest of his furniture.

"David, I know you're there. You think you can hide from me; you should know better by now. You're not a child."

Then why did he feel like one?

He stepped back, feeling the closet door knob dig into his back.

"Are you a child, David? If you were a man, you wouldn't be such a coward."

He heard the door handle jiggle as his father tried to get in. His own hand found the knob behind him.

"I just want a name, David. A name and this is all over. You can go to sleep once I get the name." He wanted to believe that but his father manipulated the truth so well. "I'm your father. I worry about you. I just want to make sure you're safe." One day David was going to be as good a liar as his father.

"Give me a name," Paul said as he pushed the door open to find it was blocked with furniture. "Give me a name, David," he hissed into the opening.

David opened the closet door and went inside, hiding like he did so many times before. He knew the irony was rich and if Hummel was here, he'd make some smartass remark that would drive him up the wall and make him wanna punch his lights out. But right now all he wanted instead was to be anywhere but here. Even with Kurt.

"David, don't you dare ignore me."

He closed his eyes, pulling on the door knob to keep anyone from getting in. He was safe here. He was safe in this space. No one would know, no one would get him. His father wouldn't touch him here. He wouldn't spend hours repeating facts. He wouldn't be analyzed. He could just be.

"David!"

He shook his head, ignoring the wetness on his cheeks. He wasn't going to break, he wasn't going to break.

"DAVID!"

He sat down on the floor, hand still on the door knob, and tried to bury the sound by humming.

He could hear his father still screaming after him in the background, banging on the door. A name. That's all he wanted. A name. Give me a name, David. Give me the name. Tell me. You're worthless. You're a disappointment. You're not my son._ You're not my son._

Screams subsided into quiet reasoning.

Then subtle insults.

Then... nothing.

Dave Karofsky slept in the closet that night, crouched and curled up in a nest of old laundry.

His hand still reached out for the door knob.

* * *

In his mind, Kurt went over the reasons why he wasn't home by curfew.

Why he didn't respond to his father's ten calls and five texts.

Why he was bruised and bloodied and his clothes were torn and dirty.

He tried to think of some excuse. Anything remotely plausible would've worked. It wasn't even a matter of covering up for Karofsky's sexuality preference anymore; how could he admit to his father just how deep the wrongs were? How could he let himself look at the man in the eyes when he admits what a useless, weak victim he was? That someone _did_ push around a Hummel?

How could he tell him how much he loved it when he orgasmed at the end and wanted more? (No, he didn't want more. He _didn't_ want it all.) That it was the most intense feeling he had ever felt in his whole life besides singing... that it was consuming him like a fire and he just wanted to get third degree burns?

If he told him, he knew that his father would just kill Karofsky. Like literally drive to his house, stomp down the door, and tear him limb from freaking limb. And while Kurt didn't find anything bad with that idea, he didn't love the idea of his dad in prison either. And once his dad found out, the whole world would know. They'd put on their sympathy goggles and pat him on the back for taking the harassment in stride, all the while pitying him, shaking their heads that he wasn't as confident and strong as he let on. All the while he'd be wondering if they thought that he deserved it, that he was asking for it.

That he wanted it.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly. He turned off the engine thirty minutes ago. As tired as he was, he knew Burt was awake, waiting for him. Waiting for an explanation. Kurt wasn't sure if he had it in him to lie to his father at the moment; he'd done it before on countless occasions, but those were little things. White lies that he would tell were justified by some sort of logic. This was different. This was going to be full on deceit. He would have to elaborate a perfect scene and act like something terrifying didn't actually happen to him tonight. He would have to be composed and neutral.

And Kurt wasn't sure if he could do it.

As much pride as he had in himself in his skills, he didn't know if he _wanted_ to cover this up. He didn't want to pull the wool over his father's eyes because sooner or later he knew the truth would come out. He just didn't want it to be sooner.

The worse part? The longer he waited outside, the worse it was going to be. Every second he was late, it would be all the more difficult to say why he was late.

_What happened tonight_, he wondered, a hand going up to his throat and felt the little marks that Karofsky left. He ignored that when he touched them, his groin would stir as if awoken from a deep slumber. What was happening to him? What did Karofsky do to him?

...What was he going to continue to do to him?

His hand wandered up to his cheek, still sore from the slap that Karofsky gave. That monster. That's what he was - an absolute horror from a nightmare.

Only Kurt was sure he was awake... and that it wouldn't be easy to rid himself of this problem.

_Better face the music_, he thought as he got out of the car. With a soft thud he landed on his feet, and closed his eyes in pain. Every part of his body hurt more than it did hours earlier. The wounds were fresh and broken and it didn't help that with every step he took towards his home, the pain got heavy and worse. He felt tired and drained, and he stumbled inside, almost falling to the floor.

"Kurt?" his father called out almost immediately.

"Hey dad," he called out weakly. "Sorry I'm so late." He gritted his teeth as he walked by the kitchen. It was bright and he saw his father helped himself to a not-Kurt-approved-for-his-diet snack. He arched an eyebrow, almost commenting but then decided against it; not like he had any right to scold considering what he was about to do. Burt Hummel, however, looked worried with that perpetual hat on his bald head. His harried robe that had seen better days was covered with crumbs and his sock covered foot tapped the floor like there was a frantic beat in the background.

"Yeah, kiddo. Where have you been? I must've called you fifteen times." He was trying to stay cool. Kurt immediately noticed that. Good, good, just have to keep it that way, he thought as he nibbled on his raw lip.

"Ten. And five texts. I counted." Kurt stayed in the dim part of the room, knowing the second his father saw the damage, all Hell would break loose.

"...Annnd you had a good excuse why you ignored your father?" Burt was trying to stay in good humor but it was failing as he realized his son wasn't coming out of the dark hallway. He wondered why.

_Why did I ignore you, Dad? I was busy gettin' violated by the resident homophobic closeted jackass. Nothing personal, just these things happen sometimes._

Fuck.

_This was going to hurt_, he thought as he fumbled with his scarf, trying not to pay attention to the filth attached to it. _Ugh._

"Yeah. I just lost track of time."

"...Until one in the morning?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, his voice wavering. There were tears in his eyes and he looked down, blinking them away. He heard his own voice and winced. It was as sore as he felt.

"With that Blaine kid."

He fidgeted. He told his father that instead of having dinner with him, he was going out with a friend from school. He didn't want to give Burt the details but supplied a name. Now poor Blaine was about to be the scapegoat, and Kurt hated himself (and Karofsky) just a little bit more. "...Yeah."

"On a school night."

"...Yeaah."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Ummm-"

Burt held up a hand. "Wait... Maybe I don't want to know. Just, next time, can you at least tell me you're even alive?"

"Sorry, Dad," he said, cursing whoever made Karofsky (because someone that terrible couldn't be human. Just couldn't.) "There were no bars where we were-" He clamped his lips shut.

Burt arched an eyebrow. "And where was that?"

"...Some cornfields."

Burt slowly nodded, before the thought finally occurred to him. "Oh. _Ooh_." He looked away, finding something fascinating on the table. Any other time Kurt would've scoffed and rolled his eyes at his father's embarrassment. "Well-" he said awkwardly. "I... hope you had a good time."

"SWELL," Kurt bit out, getting more and more ansy. When did his father become such a chatterbox?

He sighed, scratching the side of his face. "At least you're back in one piece. Almost thought a psycho got a hold of you."

_Ding ding ding! Burt Hummel, how does it feel to be a winner?_

Kurt pinched his nose, closing his eyes. God, he was tired. "Yeah, you could say that," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Just glad to be home, Dad. I'm gonna take a bath and go to bed."

"Hey, hey, hey - we're not done talking."

"I'm beat, Dad - I just wanna hit the hay. I've got to get up in-" he looked at the clock in the kitchen, squinting, "five hours." This was really going to set him back on his moisturizing routine. Damn it, Karofsky.

Burt waved at him, motioning for him to come closer. "Well, you gotta give me a goodnight kiss first."

Kurt inwardly groaned. Seriously. Only now would his father would demand that from him. He had the worst timing. "I'll do that later, Dad." He had to get clean. He had to change clothes. He had to apply make up to his face. Otherwise the questions would be too severe. Even as he thought all this, he was getting tired. He almost fell asleep at the wheel driving home... that's how sleepy he felt.

A nice bath. A nice, hot bath would set him right.

"No, come on, Kurt. I waited hours for you. I almost called the police. I'm as beat as you are-"

_I doubt that_, Kurt thought. Unless his father had a secret life he didn't care to mention.

"-Would it kill you to show your old man you care?"

The last time they had a discussion like this, his father wound up in the hospital; somehow Kurt had a feeling that would happen if he complied. He stayed still in the dark, not wanting to show how tattered he was to his father but Burt wasn't budging. As seconds went by he saw that his father was starting to get up and then Kurt walked into the light.

Burt sat down, his eyes on his son. Part of Kurt's shirt was covered in soil, definitely torn up. The left shoulder wasn't even attached to the torso part and there were soil smudges on his jeans. Kurt self consciously put his hands in his tight pockets and looked down, hoping his dad wouldn't see his red cheek. He walked with unsteady steps to Burt and paused, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek when Burt caught him at the arms and set him still.

"Who did this to you?"

"Dad, I-"

"It was that Blaine kid, wasn't it?"

Before he could reason with him, Burt was already grabbing the phone. "That settles it - I'm calling the cops. This kid is going to pay. No one touches a hair on my son's head and gets away with it. No one-"

"DAD!" Kurt grabbed the phone and slammed it on the receiver. "Chill. Out." He blew out a large exhale and sat down in a chair. "Nothing happened." _What a lie_, he thought, attempting to keep his face impassive. Burt's wasn't.

"What do you mean nothing happened? Have you looked in a mirror, Kurt?" Burt was still standing, still investigating all of the marks visible on Kurt's body. Kurt was thankful for the dirty scarf that covered all the hickies Karofsky gave him. He shifted around in his chair, looking down at the floor. Of course he hadn't looked in a mirror - he would probably die if he saw what he actually looked like at this moment.

"No, but-"

"Why are you trying to protect this guy?"

"I'm not trying to protect him-" God, his dad was so stupid, Kurt thought. "Just let me explain-"

"No, you let ME explain." Burt pointed a finger down at his son, getting more enraged by the second as he looked at the physical evidence that his boy was harmed. "Listen, I know guys like this. They think they can take what they want. They think that they can own a person. Well, this guy can't. He can't own MY son."

Kurt pursed his lips. "It sounds like you own me, anyway."

"Kurt, that's different. I'm responsible for you-"

"Do you trust me?"

There was a pause as Burt considered it. He stared down at his son's face. There was a noticeable red mark on the boy's cheek. Why was Kurt doing this? "I trust you," he said slowly. "But-"

"So let me handle it."

"Kurt-"

"Let me handle it, Dad. This is my fight." At the same time he was saying it, Kurt realized how stupid it all sounded. He couldn't handle it. Karofsky not only terrified him... he practically cornered him in the worst way possible. It was sexual harassment what was going on at this point. He could imagine walking down the halls and getting groped by the homophobic bully. Kurt let out a sigh, trying to ignore the shiver of delight at the thought. "This is never going to happen again." It was more of a promise to himself than a conviction to his dad.

Burt twisted his lips, scratching his forehead. "Kurt, you're not old enough to make decisions like this about your safety."

"You don't know anything, Dad."

"I do know about people, and whoever did this isn't good people."

"If you trusted me, you'd let me do this on my own."

"It's not a question of trust, Kurt. It's a question of me being the good parent and-"

Kurt stood up. "You just don't understand."

Burt looked at his son, his eyes going into his. "What don't I understand?"

Kurt didn't know where to start. How could he tell his father about everything? How could he ask what was normal and what wasn't to feel about a person? Was it okay that a kiss burned on his lips even hours after? Was it kosher to smell someone you hated days prior and want to be close to? Was it normal to just to want to hear that husky voice breathe into his ear and say dirty, filthy things to him? He wanted guidance, he wanted to know what to push away and what to embrace... but he knew his father wouldn't understand.

"Everything," he said, sighing. It was so complicated.

Burt had a feeling he missed something big. "Kurt-"

"Dad, I'm tired. I'm going to bed, okay?" Kurt was already turning away. Burt caught his son by the shoulder. They looked at each other in the eyes. Burt pulled him in for an embrace, hugging him tightly despite his son's injuries. He let him go, mindful of the small smile Kurt gave him.

"I'm not happy about this... but I'm going to trust you this one time. And if this happens again, there will be no conversation. I'll nail this guy for hurting you, Kurt. I don't care what you have to say about it."

"Thanks, Dad..." On one hand he was happy his father was willing to go with him on this decision. On the other... maybe it wasn't such a smart idea after all. Could he really handle David Karofsky? The double meaning sent a delicious shiver down to his pelvic area. He needed a bath. Maybe a cold one. Burt was sitting down, taking out more cookies than he should out of the package.

"By the way. You're grounded." He said it lightly, like he was commenting on the weather.

Kurt froze, and looked at his father. "What? That's not fair!"

Burt shrugged. "If it means making you safe, then I don't care. Only club activities then straight home. End of discussion."

"But-"

"End of discussion. Good night, Kurt." His father dipped a cookie into the milk as if he were punching whoever was responsible for his bad mood.

Kurt huffed, hobbling to his room.

He hated Karofsky.

He hoped he would die.

Kurt slammed the door. Men were so stupid.

* * *

My soundtrack for this chapter: "Rabbit in Your Headlights" by U.N.K.L.E., "In the End" by Linkin Park for David/Paul confrontation; "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" by John Mayer, "Toxic Valentine" by All Time Low, "I'm Not Calling You a Liar" by Florence and the Machine for Kurt/Burt confrontation. If I had to pick one song to describe this chapter it would be: "Between Two Lungs" by Florence and the Machine.

I decided to rename the chapters. This one is "Fathers", the one prior to that is "Kiss/Fist" (in honor of the infamous song), and chapter one is "Seduction", chapter two is "Dirt", and chapter three is "Lies". I think the next one is "Escape" but I'll probably change my mind at the last minute. I always do.

Thanks so much for the support! :D I'd like to recommend a fluffy fanfic as a break from the dramatic moodiness - if y'all like cotton candy stories, you'll adore **TheFirstMrsHummel's "The Signal" and "Earned."** Both portray Dave in a charming good light, and the latter has got some nice consensual Kurtofsky sexiness.

It's fantastic to see the Karofsky archives growing, even though it's not all pure Kurtofsky. I know a lot of readers are reading and don't like the violence - but I'm not writing it just to write it (well, I sort of am - I **am** into this stuff). Hopefully you'll see how Kurt and Dave's relationship evolves as the story progresses. They're two different yet similar people and I think it's absolutely fascinating to put them in a situation like this and have it play out. They're teenagers with overactive libidos who don't know the meaning of love (yet?)

That said, "I DO NOT APPROVE OF THIS TYPE OF RELATIONSHIP IN REAL LIFE" nor do I think it's healthy at all - this story is about Kurt and Dave working their way out of an unhealthy relationship to a good, productive, healthy one (I hope?) I'm gonna be straight with y'all right now - its not going to be pretty. Dave is pretty fucked up but he's got a history for that as we've seen above; and Kurt won't get off so easily (ha ha ha) either - this experience has changed him for better or for worse.

I wanted to depict Dave's father was really psychologically damaging to his son's emotional and mental self and that in a way, Kurt is an escape for that. He acts inappropriately around Kurt because this is the first time he's really felt, well, anything beside emptiness and it's really overwhelming, confusing, scary, and... _wonderful._ I also wanted to contrast how different the two homes are, the different parental approaches, and how Burt has always tried to be there, support and protect his child while Paul Karofsky is just fucked in the head. And Gaga knows why that is.

Thanks for reading. You're all wonderful. Every little thing you do encourages me.


	6. These Eyes

Rating: M, babies. Don't read - iz mature.

**Pandora's Box**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

He was in the cornfields again.

How he got there, he didn't know.

The whats, the whys, the whens weren't important; all that was important was that he had to run fast and hard away from_ him_. He didn't know how it started, what he did to deserve to be hunted down like this... there was no time for coherent thought, no time to process a reason... who this man was who was intent on destroying him.

The man that seemed to be an arm's length from him just almost catching him. He was there behind him, always there - but his face, he couldn't see his face. It was just a man who meant him harm, meant to hurt him in unspeakable ways. A shadowy figure that was on his heels. No matter what direction Kurt went into, how fast he ran, he was always there right behind him ready to tackle him.

Kurt couldn't breathe as he went past the stalks. He shoved past them, running down a pre-made path afraid to divert into the nothingness. He felt too slow. It was like he was underwater and he trashed violently to get away, but felt floating, floating, floating. This couldn't happen like this. _No no no no please not like this-_

But his pursuer was almost upon him.

He felt himself being pushed down to the ground. He didn't know if he tripped or if he was caught. He was down. It was over. He lost.

When Kurt was flipped over he realized he was naked. Did he even have clothes on to start with? He panicked looking down at his pale skin that was covered with the start of morning dew. He knew he should feel cold but there was a startling warmth coming from his center that surprised him. That, and his enormous erection. He couldn't muster up the shame or embarrassment to hide himself with his hands and laid there with his stalker on top of him, straddling his chest.

The man was still a shadow, still unknowable. Kurt couldn't tell if it was the dark that shadowed his looks or the lack of moonlight (_or that he just didn't want to see who it was_.)

He felt a sense of panic. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He tried to rock him off but could barely move.

It was going so fast.

Now he was naked too with his own arousal to show off. Kurt couldn't bring himself to look away. The mood was changing. He wasn't feeling so scared anymore. His attacker was no longer an enemy but rather something interesting to examine. His body was smooth and thick, like other unmentionable parts of his. He was rather tall and stocky, but Kurt felt the muscle rippling above him and it drove him wild. Somehow (Kurt didn't know how) he was pushed off of him and Kurt quickly sat on him, putting his full weight on the man. He could've been pushed off but Kurt felt heavier suddenly and that weighed the man down.

He didn't struggle. He laid there, accepting his fate and the role reversal easily.

The tables had turned. Kurt was now in command. He felt a silky sneer come on his face (that wasn't the only thing that would come on his face.)

Kurt grabbed the man's wrists and bound them above his head. This boy was going to be his prisoner in more than one way. He leaned his face down, hovering his lips over his partner's, not kissing but reminding him of his new dominance. Then he changed directions, making the man gasp as Kurt stuck his tongue out and sucked the side of his jaw that met his neck. It was a tender, sensitive area (and the sharp moans proved it) that Kurt sensually tore apart. The bucking of the hips underneath him reminded him his tactics were working.

The voice that he couldn't quite place was begging for mercy, begging for release.

He would get it when Kurt saw fit. He smirked and went back to biting the boy's delicious skin. Yes, this tasted so good. Tugging and nibbling with his teeth, stretching it out and massaging it back in with his tongue.

Finally he had enough of that and moved lower, doing the same ministrations to his captive's nipples. As a tease, he bit down really hard on the nipple causing a groan to come out of his lover. He sat up, sitting on his lover's stomach which was hard and muscled.

_You like that, don't you,_ Kurt said. _Don't you, you dirty bitch._

_Yes,_ the voice cried._ Please. Please. I want-_

_I'll tell you what you want, when I want it. _

His bottom rocked his lover's arousal, and Kurt bit his lip, loving the feel of it sliding against him. His lover groaned, his hands still bound in Kurt's grip. He wanted to touch him back, wanted to make him feel as good as he was feeling.

_Please let me touch you_, he begged.

_No_, Kurt snipped, smirking. _I like you this way._

His lover bucked his hips and Kurt ground down on it. He saw the look in his lover's face even without seeing his face. It was absolute desire and lust. It was him that was causing these feelings - it was good little Kurt making him feel this way. He felt so bad and dirty but in the best way; Kurt reached down, imitating so many pornos he'd seen before, and grabbed his lover's tool, pumping it.

His lover cried out, speaking in tongues. It was a religious experience if Kurt ever believed in one. The power he held over this boy.. with one move he could make him twitch and sob and with another he could make him smile and gasp. It was absolutely brilliant. With a devious smile, he held himself up and guided his lover in him. His eyes popped open at the experience and then shut down immediately, his mouth becoming impossibly wide. There was no pain; only pure pleasure. Kurt could feel the throbbing inside of him and it gave him a jolt to feel something alive in him. He let go of his lover's wrists and slid his hands down his chest, leaning down as he began to rock more and more of it in him.

_Yes..._ he hissed. Oh yes. That was what he wanted.

His lover's hands meekly went on Kurt's hips, almost afraid to touch him without permission but Kurt ground himself against the body, putting his hand on his lover's. Touch me, the action said. Do things to me. I want this. I want you.

His lover could read him and ran his hands up and down Kurt's body, playing with parts of him. While one hand toyed with a nipple the other hand wandered down south and introduced itself to his cock.

Kurt rode his nameless lover with a passion he only felt for music. Every time he went down, he would think of those high notes that only he could reach. When he went up, he would think of the applause. But feeling this man between his fingers somehow beat those experiences and made him feel so primal and real. Who was this stranger that was making him feel this way? He looked down, going faster in his actions. He tried to figure it out even as the passion, the red-hot love between his thighs was timing itself for release.

It was when he arched that final arch that unleashed a low satisfied moan that he realized whose face it was he was staring down at.

Whose eyes were bearing down into his soul.

Dave Karofsky.

* * *

He looked terrible.

He sat down in front of his vanity and eyed the dark circles. Tossing and turning was going to kill his youthful good looks (that is, if Dave Karofsky didn't first.) Then he noticed the marks around his neck were turning purple and cursed. And the bruise on his cheek was a hybrid child of green, yellow, and gray. He considered screaming to his father who was responsible if only for revenge for his appearance. He looked absolutely revolting.

If Dave Karofsky so much as glanced in his direction today, he was going to tear his head off with a dulled spork.

Kurt angrily rubbed the lotion between his hands, slapping it on his skin without the usual ceremony. He winced from the actions and proceeded to be a little more gentler, delving into his thoughts. That dream. That dream was-

No.

He wasn't going to think about it.

He wasn't going to talk about it.

He certainly _wasn't_ going to mull over it.

But the more that Kurt tried_ not_ to think about it and repress the hazy sandman-induced memories, the more he inadvertantly was thinking of it... and the last moment he could remember was Dave Karofsky's "orgasm" face. Kurt shuddered from that internal polaroid. Of all the things to have stuck in his mind, it was either that or Dave Karofsky's huge...

He blushed and quickly rubbed more lotion into his cheeks to justify why they were red.

This was madness. Sheer and utter _Gaga-help-him_ madness. A part of him couldn't even process that last night even happened let alone all of the events of the past 24 hours, and that part would still be in disbelief if not for the huge amount of, ahem, physical evidence there to convince him.

After all, who would believe the ole "homophobic closeted bully jock rapes innocent gay victim repeatedly" story? He certainly wouldn't. He couldn't even believe Karofsky was gay up until the brute stole his first kiss from him (well, the first that counted anyhow.) Even now, the more his bully denied the obviously painful truth, the less convincing he became especially after these... recent attentions delivered to Kurt.

He rubbed lotion into his elbows and shoulders, going up to his neck. His fingers pressed gingerly against the bruises and love (hardly) marks. They weren't very noticeable... not if he put foundation on them. No, it should be fine. No one would ask questions. And a scarf would perfect cover up just in case.

Yes.

He could make this work.

It was then that it hit him that he was going to go back to school to face his tormentor. To face the boy who not only came in him (dear Gaga) but on him. If Karofsky was trying to make up for lost time for repressing his gay side, he was sure making an impressive (but frightening) streak of it. Kurt put his head in his palms, shaking it slowly. What the hell was he thinking? He should've told his father the moment he was free of Karofsky, the moment that meathead got in his car. The moment his father picked up the phone to call the police. The moment that he insisted he knew best.

What was he thinking?

_Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Kurt thought, gritting his teeth.

It wasn't just that he was doing this alone, by himself, like some rogue agent or lone cowboy. No, it was the fact he was covering up concrete evidence that would expel Karofsky from school and free him (and even land the idiot in juvie. Maybe even real prison.) He was helping Karofsky in some small way by keeping this all under wraps.

Could he...

No.

No way.

Kurt snapped the lid to his expensive lotion in agitation, wiggling in his vanity seat. He went to his closet, flipping through clothing distractedly.

There was no way he actually enjoyed that.

There was no way he wanted it (like Karofsky said into his ear so many times last night...) He closed his eyes, his groin tightening. Then he popped them open, grabbing a bunch of hangers out and tossing them haphazardly on the bed. NO! This was _not_ happening to him.

What was wrong with him?

This couldn't be normal.

This couldn't actually be real.

A part of him wondered if he was still in his dream. What if he was always dreaming and this was just some nightmare he couldn't wake up from? Ha. Wouldn't that be a twist.

He pushed himself against the wardrobe, sliding down it. He heard his father upstairs, roaming around for breakfast and coffee. The air was thick with worry and tension. He could feel it even below. Burt was fretting like a mother hen and he was the ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

Why was this happening to him? All he wanted was a boyfriend. Was that so much to ask for? There were tears in his eyes and he gasped back a sob as he wiped away the pain with the palms of his hands. He wanted to feel love. He wanted affection. He wanted that romantic kiss. It was all ruined now. Who would want someone like him now? If Blaine knew... if Blaine really knew how weak and cowardly he really was...

He put his face between his knees.

No.

He sniffled and frowned. Kurt Hummel was many things: accomplished soprano, iconic fashionista, dazzling star on the rise - but he was not one to self-pity. No one felt sorry for Kurt Hummel because he never felt sorry for himself. He was better than that.

He took a deep breath in, staring out into the nothing space. He wouldn't let this break him. What would that say about him? Hell, what would that say about Karofsky? That he won? (Strange enough, he felt a sense of deja vu the last time he felt like this hours prior...)

There would be rules and guidelines. More importantly, leverage. Kurt nodded, the realization uplifting. Yeah. Leverage. He had something against Karofsky that he didn't want known... of course, Kurt himself didn't want the truth public anymore than his bully did but he wouldn't take anymore abuse any longer than he had to. Today was the day he was going to take back the power, control that bastard, and tell him what's what.

He made his way to his clothing and picked out an outfit carefully. Even though the chances of being slushied were almost guaranteed today, he couldn't be pushed around. Not for being gay and certainly not for being someone's victim; as Gloria Gaynor put it, he would survive.

* * *

Even in sleep, Dave felt the pressure around him.

His rest was fitful and unwell as he tossed and turned on the hard floor in the small enclosure. How many times had he slept like this? Too many. His father mocked him a few times for his hiding place which made him feel all the more ashamed. He wasn't a man; he was less than for running away - always running away. He hated living this way, but there was no other choice. What else could he do? He had nothing else to depend on. It was just him and the closet - that was all that was there to protect him from the world. Protect him from his father. Since he was young, those hiding places were all that kept him sane before he even knew what sanity was. He couldn't, wouldn't break. Not like before. He was still strong, he was still David Karofsky, and no one, not even his father-_not fucking Kurt Hummel_-was going to take that away from him. Even as he thought this, he shook from the last visages of a nightmare he couldn't shake off.

Being held down.

Being afraid.

Hating.

Wishing.

Needing.

Not having.

He remembered the first time the thought occurred to him that what he was experiencing couldn't be normal (shouldn't be normal.) When the other fathers were with their sons, there was no shaky sense of fear in their eyes. There were no hesitant smiles. When there was laughter, it was not followed by a wince. It was only with David's father that this was the case.

He tried not to think about it too much. If he did, he just became even more angry and desperate than he already was. Instead, he focused on other things - ways to make his father somehow happy. Was it his grades? Was it his friends? Was he popular enough? It had to have been his fault somehow. He was doing something wrong; the fault was with David, not his perfect father. There was a poison in him, seeping out, and it was killing everyone around him. No one was safe. No one was pure once they touched him.

He was infected.

Diseased.

He opened his eyes. It was dark in the closet, but there was a crack of light underneath the door that reminded him that the day went on... and he was supposed to live it.

Great.

Just great.

He put his head in his hands, ashamed at himself. He ran away from his father again - why did he think that could work this time? He was such an idiot. Such a stupid boy. Such a stupid extraordinary ordinary boy - he shook his head, trying to wake up. He slapped the side of his face, wincing. He ignored how sore his face felt, how irritated his eyes were when he blinked. He put a hand on the closet door, hesitant to open it. Then he did and stepped out.

His room was a mess. The entrance was still shut which was the only evidence that his father didn't get in (this time.) He felt embarrassed for himself to see the overreaction of piling everything in his room against a measly wooden door that his father could've taken apart had he really wanted. It was a sign that told him several things - his father would get him back eventually... and that he was a fool for thinking any amount of precaution would shield him from what he deserved.

Dutifully, he put his furniture back into place in his room. His back ached (in fact, his whole body hurt) and he did not feel like he had a whole lot of sleep. In the back of his mind, he remembered he had practice this morning but didn't know what time it was. He heard noises downstairs and tensed; what if his father was waiting for him, silent like a predator, ready to take him down once and for all?

_You're just like your mother,_ his father's words echoed and tickled down his spine.

_Weak._

_Indecisive._

_Emotional._

_No control. No control whatsoever your actions and how you feel._

_Disgusting._

He tried to ignore the commentary as he picked up his clothes off the floor and stuffed them in the hamper. With each move of his muscles, the more frantic he became to try and bury Paul's voice. _You're nothing _the voice reminded him as he shoved his desk against the wall. _You disappoint me _it sighed as he righted the bed in a good angle, in a perfect angle._ There's a spot_, the voice hissed. Clean it. Wash it. Be pure, unstained. Don't be dirty.

God forbid if he was dirty.

There were tears coming down his face but he didn't pay them any mind. It was better for him just to ignore it. It was better for him to pretend it was okay. It was okay. It _was_ okay. He let out a breath as his door became free and there was a moment when he tensed, as if his father would burst through like the boogey man. Nothing happened and he ventured out into the hallway. He could hear his father's voice downstairs as he talked into the phone. To who, David didn't know and didn't care - as long as it wasn't him.

He went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, ruefully thinking that there wasn't much to barricade the door here. Ha. He looked in the mirror and groaned - he looked like such shit. No wonder Kurt pushed him away; how could anyone want him? He closed his eyes against the wetness. What a fucking pity party he was. _Man up, Karofsky. Man up!_ He opened his eyes and saw the marks all over his neck. Lovebites from his unwilling lover. He narrowed his eyes, sneering. It was a sign that Kurt wanted it as much as he did no matter how hard he struggled. Couldn't Kurt see how much Dave struggled too? He didn't want this either. He never wanted to touch the boy again, to feel his soft skin against his, to taste those pretty luscious lips-

He ignored his painful erection. It was time to think with a different head.

He undressed, breathing through his nose (which still hurt, thanks a lot, Hummel) to control the pain in his ribs and stepped into the shower. Hot. That's what he needed. Something to burn him to remind him that he was still alive (then why did it feel like the opposite?)

He closed his eyes when the painful water hit his back and let out a deep exhale. It felt good to finally get clean. When was the last time he cleaned himself? He opened his eyes. Oh yeah. The last time he took a shower was with Kurt. He frowned. Well, not exactly _with _him but it was close enough to get him hard again. He groaned, his hand going to his loins. He never used to be this horny and when he did, it was easy enough to close his eyes and put it in some girl nearby. It helped boost his rep and satisfied him (at least, it _used_ to). Then Hummel had to come along and ruin everything. All he could think was that boy. Even now when he tried desperately to think of tits and glossy pink lips, all he could see in his mind was that tight ass in those jeans bending over for him.

"FUCK!" he screamed, his fist hitting the tile. "Fuck my life." He brought it back, holding it to his chest. He closed his eyes and turned to the showerhead, letting the water go down his face to hide his tears. He couldn't be this. He shouldn't be this.

He wasn't this.

He wasn't.

His hand ached and he put his head against the wall. There were so many times (and this was no exception) when he wished it was easier. This pain on his heart everytime he woke up to another day was almost too much to bear. He was pretending to be something he wasn't and fucking up at it too. Another thing his father would point out that he couldn't do right.

But this wasn't his fault. He was okay up until...

...Up until that _fag_ came along.

He sneered, his eyes opening with a sudden hatred. Everything was good until him. And then once he entered his life, that's when everything started to go to shit. The more Dave thought about it, the more he became convinced that yes, it was indeed Kurt Hummel's fault. In fact, Hummel always acted so much better than him. He probably got off on walking mental circles around him. Making him insane with those eyes of his. Those disapproving, deceitful eyes. Those eyes that dared him to cross the line, and well, guess what, he did. He crossed it. Now what was he going to do?

He was fucked now.

It was Kurt's fault. All his fault. And Kurt knew it. Kurt was doing this to him on purpose to get back at him. ...Probably telling at the Glee freaks about it. Telling them about how he made him fuck him. Laughing at him. Planning to ruin his life. And what did Dave get? Nothing. His life was over. All because he couldn't keep it in his pants. All because he saw those eyes and had to-... he let out an exhale, looking up.

Had to see himself in them.

Dave's life could've been normal.

_He_ could've been normal.

But those eyes destroyed him.

He closed his own.

And now Dave was going to destroy him back.

* * *

She used to be pretty.

Now all that remained was the ghost of a carefree, dreamy smile in her face that was reanimated into something more forced and scared.

She looked at the dishes she was washing, mindful to make sure there were no scratches and chips. It had to be perfect. Or else...

Her eyes wandered to the doorway. Paul was still in his phone meeting. He was in one of his moods, too. It wasn't good. She carefully dried the dish, making sure no lint or water remained on the surface. The last thing she needed right now was a screw-up that could've been prevented. No, little mistakes were big mistakes. It was something she learned early on.

Above, she heard the shower go on and her eyes went briefly to the ceiling before retreating to the next dish, treating it with as much care as the one before. She heard everything last night from the bedroom. She knew better than to interrupt Paul when he was parenting. What did she know about boys or raising a son? Paul was the smart one. He was the one who finished school. She was the one who got pregnant before marriage at sixteen. She didn't even have her high school diploma; just another Lima Loser. Paul was asked to speak at conferences in New York and Boston. He was more important than her as he was fond of reminding her. She didn't know anything but how to cook and clean. He knew everything.

Still, her heart hurt when she heard Paul go after her little boy. She couldn't help him. David was all alone, no better off than she was. How could they protect themselves from someone who was their protector?

He taught him not to cry, just like how he taught her not to talk back. It was the right thing to do, she thought. The husband was in charge. The man was the role model. The father was the leader. And Paul was so smart, so accomplished. She admired him even before they were together; he was good-looking, forward-thinking, and knew just what to say in situations. She was always tongue-tied and embarrassed, with two left feet, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was amazing that they ended up together. It was amazing he even bothered to stay in Lima with her given his ambitions.

She paused in her dishwashing and felt him behind her, watching. Her back became straighter, her posture more pronounced. Even her once-youthful face became taut with anticipation and anxiety.

"Has he come down yet?"

She shook her head, her eyes on the dish, examining it for flaws. There was a nick in the corner and she bit the side of her lip, something she did when she was nervous. A part of her hoped he wouldn't notice. She ran a finger across it, flinching when she cut herself. She dipped her hands in the dishwater.

"He's going to be late to school."

She offered no response.

Paul let out a sigh as he came behind her. She tensed. Paul never touched her unless he had to. She played with her cut underwater.

He put his hands on her aproned waist. "Breakfast was lovely, dear. But I think you should throw out the leftovers. David isn't going to be hungry for cold eggs."

"I can heat them up-" she started before she realized what he meant. She looked up into his eyes and looked away. The hot soapy water was burning her open wound - it felt preferable to this interaction between husband and wife. "Yes, of course."

His hands tightened on her waist almost painfully to remind her of certain things. "He can get something at school." It was said more to soothe her motherly nerves than anything else. David wouldn't eat until his father let him eat.

She nodded. It was better to be silent. Better to be seen and not heard. Better just to pretend.

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek and she closed her eyes. "Good girl."

He walked away, and she heard him at the entrance. "I want dinner at six. Prepare something light and hearty. Make sure David is here." He said the last part loud so that way David would hear it upstairs. They both knew he was listening, and if he wasn't, she would just tell him herself. Then he closed the door with a slam, the only indication of his emotions. She knew it angered him that David was rebelling against his father but she knew it would happen sooner or later; she did the same thing when she was his age. But, then, she thought as she looked at the dishwater, at the perfect kitchen, at the immaculate magazine-cover surroundings - look where that got her.

* * *

Burt looked at the newspaper, rereading the line in an article about the game last night.

_Gary Footman won't be returning to the Saddlebacks next season because of blah blah blah blah..._

He wasn't really paying attention. His eyes went to the doorway, waiting for something to happen. He went over the scenario too many times in his head. A part of him was tempted not to let his son go to school today. Kurt was holding back something from him and it hurt him to know that his little boy not only distrusted him, but was protecting someone that wasn't worth protecting.

If Vera were here. If she was here, would any of this still be happening? He closed his eyes, irritation behind them. As much as he loved Carol (and god, he did) there was still that hole that even Carol would never fill for Kurt. He hoped she could replace Vera as a mother for his son but Kurt so far treated Carol more as a friend rather than a confident. He had walls up all around him. He couldn't let his guard down and trust.

Burt wanted to blame himself. Ever since he met Carol he was reminded of all the things he could've had since Vera died but was too scared to rediscover again. He was afraid of losing someone so special to him; losing Vera hurt... losing Carol would devastate him. And then he realized what was missing from his life: a family. He loved Kurt with all of his heart, and he knew his boy felt the same, but without a woman there, without the teasing, the laughter, it was just two men living together.

He wasn't a good father in that regard. A good father would've put the needs of his son before himself, but he was selfish and frightened.

And now he was paying the price with Kurt's silence and independence.

He was so young. Didn't he see how young he was? He didn't know any better. He wasn't in love. Love didn't treat someone terribly. Love wasn't a panicky feeling. Love was sweet. It was cooperation. It was a partnership of two equals. Love meant cherishing that person, not breaking them.

If he ever got a hold of that Blaine kid, Burt thought, sneering as he drank his coffee. Of course, Kurt took out all of the caffeinated and other fun products as per doctor's orders. It was a miracle he found those cookies. He could've really gone for a beer. That boy had no idea just how close he was to grabbing his jacket and assembling a search party for him. Eleven missed calls - lucky he didn't get twenty. Or fifty. Or a GPS tracker on his ankle.

He rubbed his temples. He was getting too old for this.

Wasn't he supposed to worry about a daughter doing things like this?

Just the thought of Kurt going back to that school with the maniac was putting him on edge. He didn't even sleep last night. All he did was lay on the couch watching Kurt's door. A paranoid part of him was worried that Kurt would sneak out or if that Blaine freak would try to break in and finish what he started. The less sleep he got, the more elaborate the plot became. He'd have to call the school and make sure Blaine stayed away from Kurt. Maybe even talk to Finn. Yeah. Finn would protect Kurt. He'd walk him to class, escort him to his car - and more importantly, hunt that Blaine kid down. No one messed with a Hummel and got away with it.

He was so lost in his planning that he failed to notice Kurt coming up to the kitchen and helping himself to a quick sip of orange juice and some carbs. Burt blinked when Kurt kissed him on the forehead, rushing past before Burt could grab onto him.

"-thanks for the toast, running late, bye-" he sang as he ran out.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Burt got up, lumbering after his nimble son only to find that Kurt was already in his car. He groaned. That boy was going to be the death of him. He grumbled, walking up to the car still in his socks and robe. Judging by Kurt's reaction, his son was only slightly mortified.

"Dad!" he hissed through the open window. "Get back in bed!" He looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was even awake on their block.

He slid lower in his car seat, a hand covering the side of his face. This was so embarrassing. Burt was only starting his interrogation.

"Where you going off so early?"

"It's not early-"

Burt looked at his watch. "For christ's sake, it's not even six thirty yet."

The boy fidgeted in his seat. "I was gonna go talk to Coach Sue. I missed practice yesterday-" then he cut himself off, looking at his hands in his lap. "Early bird gets the worm, remember?"

"Right." Burt wasn't convinced. But he wasn't going to push Kurt; they both knew how successful of a trick that was.

"You shouldn't be driving," Burt said. "Come on, lemme drive you."

"Dad, you're supposed to be resting."

"And last time I checked, I was still the parent here."

"I'm not going to let you drive me in school when you're still sleeping on the couch." And Kurt's eyebrows arched up. "Especially when you're dressed like that."

Burt prepared a rebuttal but sighed. He really didn't have the energy to fight with Kurt so early and drive him to and fro school. As much as it pained him to admit it, he wasn't strong enough to protect his son. Not yet.

He stuck on his index finger at his son, wagging it like a well-meaning sitcom father. It would've been comical under different circumstances. "Remember: straight home, after school!"

"I know, Dad."

"I mean it. No clubs-"

"_I know_, Dad."

"No Glee-"

"I get it, Dad."

"No friends-"

"Dad-"

"And don't pretend you can't hear the phone, Kurt."

He was rewarded with a glare, replying with a well-meaning frown. A part of him realized something and he softened.

"Hey. About last night-"

"Can we not talk about it?"

"You simmer down, young man." Burt adjusted his hat, staring at his son. He couldn't see much on his face. Kurt had sunglasses on and a large scarf around his neck. It wasn't even that cold out; Burt knew what he was hiding. If he didn't see it for himself, he wouldn't have thought there was a huge bruise on his son's face. The wonders Kurt could do with make up... it almost made him smile until he remembered why he had to put on make up in the first place. "I got something to say before you go to school. Can you slow down for your old man?"

Kurt checked his attitude and sighed. The make up itched at his face and the side of his face throbbed slightly from contracting his face into a fake smile. "Sorry.. it's just.. I really got to get going."

Burt knew this was a defining moment. He knew that after last night the dangers were real; his son was in the line of fire, a target for some sick freak. He had to protect him the best he could and would; he would make up for his disappointments as a father. He would show Vera he was taking care of their little boy. "Kurt." He paused, looking into those blue eyes that matched his own. "I love you. Come back home in one piece, okay?"

Kurt exhaled and let a small smile grace his lips. It was slight enough to be noticed and not make him wince. For a moment he thought his father was going to go on some spiel on safety. He saw what when on in Burt's mind... the struggle, the decisions... why couldn't he see that he could take care of himself? Kurt nodded, turning on the engine. "Don't worry, I will. See you after school. Promise."

As Kurt drove off, Burt watched, hoping he would keep that promise... for both of their sakes.

* * *

Soundtrack for this chapter: "The Voice Within" and "I'm OK" by Christina Aguilera, "No One" by Alicia Keys, "Nicest Thing" by Kate Nash, "Super" by Say Hi To Your Mom .

**Soooo sorry about the wait,** my darlings. **I was moving **and then **I was breaking up** and then I was getting together with someone else and then working and GAH - all very dramatic and tumultuous. It was a very mini-drama indeed. I just want to say thank you to **MrsYaoiManga, under spectra, SadisticFangirl, Boldlikeblack, and TheFirstMrsHummel **for being ultra fan girls and checkin' up on me every now and then. You gals rock.

Few things: a lot of people were absolutely slapped with shock at how I portrayed Paul Karofsky. Babies, you ain't seen nothing yet. That was just an introduction - it very much gets worse for Dave Karofsky. Very much. You could call it karma, or you could say it's a process that needs to happen in order for the balance to right itself. Whatever! Kurt Hummel, Blaine, Azimio all get their kicks and giggles too. It's gonna be sweet.

Also - apparently my fanfic rocks the proverbial Kurtofsky shipping boat. Whoops. My bad.

This is what I have to say (**BEWARE LONG UNCOMFORTABLE RANT AHEAD**):

Yes. This fanfic is well written. Thank you for everyone who notes this and compliments me; it means the world to me to hear that all the time.

But guess what? It's _**also**_ not everyone's cup of tea because of the content. It has really, really difficult concepts like love sometimes being an obsessive, dangerous, terrible, destructive force. It has abuse. It has rape. It has hate. It has terrible, terrible things.

It has beings being forced on other beings, even though I gray the area with how it's presented.

So I know some people want to stick up for the story and say "Well, you gotta read the whole thing before you judge" and yeah, you sort of do, but I think it's within everyone's right to go "yeeaah not for me" and just move on. If they attacked the story and made a thing of it, then the proper thing for that is a debate - and then the person attacking it really needs to know what they're talking about. Then they'd have to read it. But if it's someone who is clearly uncomfortable with rape or child abuse or homophobia, then it's their prerogative to just go "no, thank you."

I'm a survivor of rape. I know other people who have been raped. It really fucked them over, just like it fucked me over. It's not fun or hot or exciting to actually have the reality; you want that person to stop hurting you, but they keep hurting you in the worst way possible. It ruins you for the next partner, the next LOVING gentle partner who has to be so patient with you and to literally walk a minefield of emotions and feelings to avoid hurting you. You become a bundle of contradictions where you like something but it makes you feel dirty and upset and panicky. Like, for instance I used love rough sex but every time I have it now, I keep thinking about the one time I wanted him (my rapist) to stop, and he didn't. I think about it every day. Every day. I am not kidding you. Every single day. I'm trying to portray that in Kurt - he thinks about it every day, just like he probably thinks about the kiss every day. It stays with him; it changed him; it opened doors that were closed before. It expanded his personality and his thoughts and his mind, whether he likes it or not.

This is a reality. I'm not writing this to piss anyone off or to say "hey, take this lightly" - if anything, this is me coming to terms with my own experiences. The shameful thing is, there are women and men who fantasize about rape. It doesn't mean they want it to happen or they like the painful reality... it's just a kink. For me, I'm trying to own it, trying take it back in my control because I've been hurt irreparably emotionally and mentally by my own rape ... I look at David and go, "Who are you? What makes you tick? Why are you doing these things?" and then I look at Kurt and go, "You're not superior to David. You've got your own faults. What if you were like me and were ashamed of these feelings? How would you feel if no one understood you? Would you lay awake at night and cry quietly because you didn't know what to do?"

In a way, Dave Karofsky is better than most in that he stops pushing Kurt when Kurt has a limit. I wanted to show that he doesn't just "take" something; there's always a lead up and a warning - almost like foreplay where Kurt is only saying no as a formality. Sure, it gets rather dirty and almost unbearable to watch and believe me, there have been scenes where I literally spend just days thinking about "how do I write that" "I can't write that" "how can I post that" and then expect all of this hate to come pouring down on me. **But I never wanted Kurt to melt in love with Dave; that's not the story I'm writing. The story I'm writing is where Dave realizes things about himself just like Kurt realizes things about himself. And then they hopefully become better people because of it.**

So just in case a person accuses me of not being sensitive to victims of rape (because guess what, I have never felt like a survivor. I've always felt like a victim even years after it happened to me) this is to clear up the matter: I may not be a lot of things, but I definitely do know both sides of the story I'm presenting.

David's actions are truly opening a pandora's box, just like my own rape experience was a pandora's box.

Just giving my two cents there. Thought you should know where I stand. I wrote more in my brand new tumblr (colouredrose) so if you want to hear more, feel free to go downtown!

**(end rant)**

Anyway, enough awkwardness. :) Lookin' forward to the next chapter!

Good fanfic to check out: **Not So Simple by TessisaMess** (on livejournal).

And one last thing:** Thanks for reading.**


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